


Hand in Glove

by Arya_Greenleaf



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, Dom/sub Undertones, Force Choking, Gloves, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, Masturbation, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-05-24 15:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6158816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>General, please--</em><br/>Hux'd gotten into Kylo's head. The worst part of it was that it was Kylo's own fault. He'd tried to dig where he should have known it was unwise to do so and couldn't forget what he saw. It affected him, kept affecting him no matter how hard he pushed it away. The harder he tried, the more he didn't want to. Curiosity, or what felt like it, curled its wicked fingers into the back of his head and wiggled them around, making him imagine hard hands and soft leather--the feel of them making his breath catch and the smell of it lingering under his nose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by and written with the permission of the ever lovely Vady, writer of this [delightful little fic from Hux's point of view.](http://help-i-am-actually-solas.tumblr.com/post/140378174923/so-im-writing-fanfic-again-and-this-time-i) This one is Kylo's side of the story.
> 
> Both works are inspired by this fan art over on tumblr, by [sinfullucifer.](http://coffeetwosugars.tumblr.com/post/138050928263/sinfullucifer-he-got-lonely-ok-but)
> 
> I just hope that I do both works justice with my addition. This is the first time since joining AO3 that I've written for anything outside of the Marvel fandom and I'm utterly terrified of how this is going to be received.
> 
> EDIT 14MARCH2016: Vady is now on AO3! Woo! Go leave kudos for the fic that inspired this one [right here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6220141) Do it. Do it. Do it.
> 
> EDIT 01JULY2016: [doodlingthingies](http://doodlingthingies.tumblr.com/) is a wonderful, amazing person and has posted fabulous fan art of Avaah Ren, the original character that appears here and in several of my other Kylux fics. Go check them out by clicking [right here.](http://onheil-ferguson.tumblr.com/tagged/avaah-ren)

Kylo could feel the irritation coming off of Hux in waves each time he neared the General.

Theirs was an uneasy partnership, if it could even be called that.

The fact of the matter was, Hux did not want the knight aboard his ship any more than Kylo wanted to be there. But Leader Snoke ordered it and it was a mandate that could not be ignored. That being on the ship was meant to further Ren’s mission was rather beside the point.

Hux was a general in every sense. Because of his personal sense of order and efficiency, the  _Finalizer_ ran smoothly—each technician and trooper a well-oiled cog in the massive machine. There were times, lying in his narrow bed and reaching out to feel the pulsating energy of the Force around him, that Kylo imagined the ship less like a machine and more like a throbbing heart. Every person was a valve through which the spirit of the Order and the energy of the Force flowed and went in and over and around, bringing the galaxy closer to the grand  _thing_ that the Supreme Leader promised so fervently.

But to achieve that that, Kylo Ren needed to complete the mission that Vader had begun and that he himself had driven forward what now felt like a lifetime ago—Skywalker needed to be found and eliminated. Doing that required a certain level of cooperation between him and Hux.

Kylo listened almost boredly as some sergeant gave a report on outdated information pertaining to Skywalker's whereabouts. Even the Captain seemed more interested in the surface of her helmet where it sat in front of her on the table than to the report being given. He let his mind wander, shifting his thoughts to things less infuriating. His eyes slid from the incompetent sergeant to the general at the head of the table. Hux glanced toward Ren as if feeling his gaze and narrowed his eyes.

_I may kill him today. So help me if that saber comes out—_

Kylo clenched his jaw, glad for the safety of the mask as he reached out to skim the outermost thoughts from the organized layers of Hux's mind. Reflexively, he touched the hilt of the saber at his waist and drew his hand away, placing both of them on the smooth tabletop. He was game.

Hux's gaze slid back toward the other officers seated at the table and away from Kylo as if purposefully ignoring him. He drew in a deep, slow breath, filling his chest and making the inky bright fabric of his uniform shift and shimmer in the light with the motion of it. He stood and settled his hands behind his back, raising an expectant brow as the man who had been speaking faltered. The report continued as Hux stepped away from the table and stood before the window, looking down on the control center of the ship as he listened.

Kylo probed further, reaching out with gentle tendrils and prodding once again at the outer edges of Hux's thoughts. Curious, he wondered just how much Hux actually knew. Of course, it was necessary to explain to him upon Kylo's appointment to the  _Finalizer_ that he had once been under Skywalker's tutelage. But what else was Hux aware of? The travesty of Ben Solo and his parentage? The pull of the Light that perpetually tormented him? The intensity of his bond to Vader's cause?

He probed deeper, careful not to allow the energy of the force to feel too intrusive, easing in slowly.

Sharp pain shot through Kylo's head as Hux shut him out.

The knight watched the general carefully, the subtle shift in his posture likely not noticeable to anyone who wasn't looking for it. He tried again, peeling back layers and burrowing in.

Suddenly, his mind's eye was flooded with a vivid memory—no a fervent imagining. His field of vision was obscured by the smooth shine of uniform fabric and the high polished chrome of a belt. His breathing felt labored, though he knew it wasn't in truth, the pressure of a hand at his throat in Hux's mind a tangible weight on his flesh. He could feel the cold hardness of the floor against his knees as he looked up at Hux.

 _Please_.

_Please, what, Ren?_

_General, please._

Hux's upper lip curled in disgust and his grip tightened. He bent lower, bringing their faces closer together, his controlled breath hot on Kylo's face. Each word sounded like an individual command—

_General, please, what?_

Kylo felt himself shudder and lean closer, as close as the hand around his throat would allow, his forehead a hair's width away from the polished buckle at Hux's waist.

_Please let me serve you._

_Serve me how, Ren?_

_However you please—to please you—General, please!_

Kylo's voice broke, his face hot with blood and lack of air, as he stretched closer still, trying to tilt his chin forward—

_It pleases me for you to obey._

Hux's voice was a low growl, warning and predatory and dangerous.

Kylo Ren recoiled from the vision. His pulse hammered in his temples and his stomach lurched. He gripped the hilt of his saber with a trembling hand as he stood, nearly knocking his chair over. "You have nothing of value to offer. You are as useless as the information you've thus provided," he barked through the mask. Eyebrows went high all around the table. General Hux's left heel squeaked softly against the floor, though he did not turn. Kylo swept away from the table, his cape and the tails of his tunic billowing out behind him, and walked swiftly and purposefully from the room.

He stalked steadily through the halls, driven forward by the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and the prickle of gooseflesh on the back of his neck racing down his spine. A small group of troopers was making their regular rounds up ahead. They halted when they saw him, pressing themselves to the wall as he passed. He could feel their confusion and apprehension thick on his tongue. He raised his hand, a snap of Force energy slamming the emergency doors shut behind him simply because he could.


	2. Chapter 2

Days went by.

Kylo steered clear of General Hux and devoted his attentions toward meditation and training. If he was getting nothing useful from any of Hux's scouts and officers and informers than he would try again to find Skywalker on his own.

That was how he justified it, at the very least.

Meditation didn't come easy, it never did. Kylo's mind refused to settle into that airy space between solid reality and the abstract buzzing and flowing of space and the Force expanding all around.

It had been Skywalker who had posited the notion of tiring his body, making it loose and yielding, to allow his mind—his Force—the luxury of unrestricted movement beyond the cage of his limbs and chest and head.

The fact that it worked and continued to work made him alternately full of rage and utterly pleased—if there was one thing that Kylo found real enjoyment in, if he was capable of such a thing any longer, it was in working his body until it was sore and then moving just a step beyond. He relished in the feel of the ache in his muscles, like he'd become aware of the burn and stretch of every last fiber, and the numb throb that followed. So used, so spent, Kylo found meditation more like deep slumber with the snippets of sound and light and color of the visions that followed as vivid as nightmares.

 Kylo’s chest heaved and he fought to keep his breathing steady and deep. He’d been working through the simulation for an hour, the difficulty slowly increasing as he completed each task. Sweat dripped down over his bare chest and back and through his hair like dozens of bugs crawling over him. He closed his eyes, trying to feel the tiny shifts of electricity in the air that came just before the simulation threw a new foe in front of him or the programing ramped up for a new level.

He turned, his hand balled into a fist and made contact with the hulking creature’s jaw just behind him. Though it was made only of light, it felt solid, and his hand stung with the force of the blow. More annoyed than injured, the thing let out a high-pitched screech and lunged for him. Kylo resisted the urge to call his saber from where it rested in his holster, hanging on a peg on the far side of the room. He’d grown too dependent on it in the face of combat.

The creature—a species he couldn’t name if he wanted to—seemed to be covered in thick, hard flesh and spiny nubs that scratched his arms and hands as he hit and blocked. It was keeping him moving, staying too close for Kylo to get a proper strike in but too far to get beneath its defenses. He knew the simulation was programmed to read his vital signs, that it would take advantage of his bodily weariness. It was very literally trying to force him to fail by way of tiring him out.

At the hollow of the creature’s throat, where he suspected the bones of the shoulders might meet whatever bony structure was protecting its organs, though the skin looked just as thick, there were no spines.

Kylo ducked as a great arm swept out, dodging under it and driving the heel of his palm up into the flesh under its chin. As quickly as he could, he drove the fingertips of his other hand into that dip, hand as ridged as a spear. It was almost bewildering to see his fingers within the creature’s throat through the projection of its body. It screeched again and thrashed, trying to shake free. Kylo closed his hand, curling his fingers around what he imagined might be whatever part of the creature’s anatomy served the same purpose as his own trachea and with his thumb anchored between two spiny nubs on the outside, he squeezed.

The screeching died down and the creature started to go limp. Unable to extricate his hand immediately, Kylo allowed himself to be pulled down on top of it. He sank through the projection to the floor, body tensed for the next attack.

“Simulation complete.” The voice from the computer was smooth and light.

Kylo got warily to his feet, sure the simulation shouldn’t have ended so abruptly. Hadn’t there been another level? He looked toward the mirror on the opposite end of the room, behind which the control board was located. Had someone changed the programming while he’d been at it? He scowled at his own reflection and tried to look past it, reaching out with the Force and finding nothing.

Perhaps he was wrong.

He sank down onto the floor, his legs bending crossed, and rolled his shoulders. He wasn’t quite as loose as he’d prefer to be, but it would work if he focused.

There was tension already spreading out across his shoulders. He refused to allow it to settle. He breathed in, slow and deep, and stretched his arms out to the side, pushing them back and splaying his fingers wide as he let the breath go. Breathing in again, he raised them up above his head, fingertips toward the ceiling, and bent forward at the waist. His chest was completely empty by the time his palms were against the cool matted surface of the floor, his body folded double. He pushed himself further, fingertips nudging just fractions further, his back and shoulders burning with the prolonged stretch. He began to draw in another deep breath when the lightest of scuffs reached his ears. He paused, mid breath, and stared hard at the floor immediately in front of his nose.

Kylo began pull out of his stretch only to hear the cluck of a tongue.

“Don’t stop on my account, Ren.”

He felt his ears turn hot and knew they’d gone red. He hoped it would pass for having been due to his less than comfortable position. “You stopped the simulation.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To see what you’d do.”

“And?”

“And, what?”

“And, did I react to your satisfaction, _General_?” Kylo felt slightly ridiculous speaking to the floor, his chin just inches from his toes. He could practically _hear_ the way Hux pursed his lips. He wavered between wanting to sit up and slap the expression he knew Hux was wearing off of his face and wanting to… to… to—

Kylo tensed and resettled his hands against the floor, breathing deeply in and out once more.

The quiet sounds of Hux’s boots against the floor grew closer. He walked slowly around Kylo in a wide circle and stopped somewhere behind.

Kylo squawked in protest when Hux settled his weight down, seating himself almost gingerly on Kylo’s back and forcing his forehead and nose down onto the floor.

Kylo’s fingers shook, the instinct to call for his saber overwhelming.

“It was quite an efficient kill, I’ll give you that, Ren. Perhaps one day I’ll show you how to properly crush a throat without getting so messy.” He paused and must have crossed one leg over the other, his weight—for all of his slenderness, he was _solid_ —bouncing just slightly. “How’s the stretch? Good? Shoulders loosening? Back nice and long?”

Kylo grunted in response, non-committal.

Though he was sure the general’s face was as neutral as it always was when not engaged in some kind of command, he swore he heard a smile in the upturn of Hux’s tone.

“Train with something flesh and blood. They have less predictable algorithms than a simulation.” Hux rose from his seat and walked back toward the door through which he’d come, through to the control room behind the mirror. “I’ll have Phasma send someone suitable. Try not to kill them.”

Kylo remained where he was until he heard the door beyond the control room slide closed in its niche with the little tell-tale _whhish_.

He rolled his back up, coming slowly out of the deep stretch he’d been forced down into, and shuddered hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me, this week is going to be extremely hectic, so I'm not sure when I'll be able to update? But rest assured, we'll get to the bits that actually inspired the damn thing. I promise it'll be worth the rating and the tags.


	3. Chapter 3

Kylo sat bolt upright in bed. His heart was racing, his skin clammy, he struggled to catch his breath.

The vision—and he was  _sure_ it was a Force vision and not simply a dream—had been one of the most vivid he'd ever experienced.

He was also sure that it could be taken as encouragement and confirmation from his grandfather that he was on the right path.

His head was still ringing with the shrill cries of the younglings and Padawans alike in the Palace of the Jedi and at the temple where Kylo had abandoned Ben Solo. The flashing smears of light from the blades of their sabers imprinted on the insides of Kylo's eyelids in a violent strobe of red and blue, making him dizzy as he blinked into the darkness of his quarters.

"Stop it."

He clamped his hands over his ears in a futile attempt to keep the echo of Skywalker's voice at bay.  _Ben—Ben! What have you done?_ He'd looked crushed, devastated.  _Why?_

"Stop it!"

 He laid back down, his head tipped all the way back into his pillow, his throat long and taut. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Skywalker's voice was soft, a tone used to comfort children.  _It's alright, Ben. We all feel it. You, me, my father—even your mother sometimes—it's not about fighting against the darkness, resisting it... It's about... it's about acknowledging that the darkness is there, respecting it. Trying to force it down only makes the call stronger. You have to learn how to exist with it, not in spite of it._

Kylo felt small and anxious. He could  _feel_ Skywalker's hand on his hair, smoothing it down. "Stop it," he whispered.

***

Behind his mask, Kylo felt whole and safe. He could shut everything else out if he had the mask on.

Behind the mask, the Knights of Ren seated at the table around him couldn't see the way the nervous sweat clung to his upper lip. Under the bulk of his robes they couldn't see the way his chest heaved in and out in quick, short breaths as he struggled against memories of childhood and comfort. He closed his eyes and tried to listen to the reports from the others. They'd all recently returned from their own missions, each assigned to a task best suited to their skills.

He tried to suppress the pained noise that welled up in the back of his throat and failed. 

"Kylo Ren?"

"It's nothing."

"Clearly it is  _something_."

It was the hazy memory of a cozy bedroom and a looking glass, of Leia Organa's wide eyes glittering in the low light as she unwove long braids and of glossy hair cascading over her shoulders as she told him about Ewoks and lush green forests, of Ben Solo perched on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with interest.

Kylo took a deep breath and pressed his fingertips down hard into the ugly bruise on his thigh from his most recent round in the training simulation.

"It is nothing. Continue."

The knight cleared his throat and did as he was told, "It will be beneficial to wait until we receive more solid information from the Order's informants, but all things point very promisingly to Jakku."

Kylo rose from his seat, "Well then, it would seem my presence is required at that ridiculous meeting after all." He bowed his head as he stepped around his chair and away from the table, the others doing the same.

He strode through the ship to the officers' conference room overlooking the command center with a sense of renewed purpose. It had been too long since they'd had any level of confidence in a lead on Skywalker's whereabouts, even with the countless hours of meditation Kylo had devoted to it in the preceding months. This all seemed almost too good to be true.

"You're looking particularly pleased with yourself this morning."

"Captain."

"So, what is it?"

"How can you possibly know that I look  _pleased with myself_ if you cannot see my face, Phasma? Are you Force-sensitive as well?"

She scoffed behind her helmet, "Your shoulders, Ren, your shoulders." She got ahead of him with several long strides, not bothering to hold the door to the room they were both headed to when she reached it.

The meeting, as per usual, was long, stale, and frustrating. Until, or course, attentions were turned toward more interesting and vitally important matters. "We've tracked it to Jakku, we're sure of it." The woman's voice was high and light, almost childlike, and in complete contradiction to the severe look of her.

"Who are we looking for? Who has it? The map?"

"Careful, Ren." Hux's voice was low and husky. His eyes remained on the woman giving her report. She must have only just returned from Jakku herself, her uniform's shine dulled by the thin film of dust that covered every bit of her. If it bothered the orderly general at all, he didn't show it.

The woman continued, "We believe we're looking for Lor San Tekka." Kylo clenched his jaw. The name was familiar.

"If Tekka knows where Skywalker is then it absolutely  _has_ to be Ahch-To, that can't have been a misdirect." Kylo found himself sitting up straighter.

Hux's gaze slowly slipped toward Kylo. The woman continued to lay out the information she had gathered in a methodical way. Lor San Tekka's countenance appeared in the middle of the table, the hologram wearing an almost studious expression. Though he continued to look at Kylo, Hux's question didn't seem directed toward him. "If Skywalker is at Ahch-To then he must be planning to resurrect the Jedi, try to, again."

"It may or may not." Hux tilted his head back, nose toward the ceiling and the crown of his head resting against the back of his chair. His eyes slid toward the ceiling. Kylo was almost positive he was being ignored. A gloved hand came up toward Hux’s face, index and middle fingers tapping his lips thoughtfully while the rest curled under his chin. "I will go with the Knights to Jakku, we will get the map and go straight to Skywalker. Then we will never  _have_ to find out if he plans to resurrect the Jedi or not." Hux trailed his fingers over his bottom lip, over the curve of his chin, down the length of his throat to his collar.

Kylo's mouth went dry as he watched the dark leather over Hux's fingers track against the pale cream of his skin.

Hux's eyes slid back toward Kylo for a fleeting moment before he sat up in his seat once more. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"No."

Kylo rose from his seat and smacked a palm down on the table. "Supreme Leader Sn—"

"Snoke may allow you and your Knights leeway within the Order but this is  _my_ ship. You are not going to go on a fool's errand to Jakku when you don't even know where Tekka  _is_. That is a waste of my time and yours." He looked at Kylo with a hard expression until Kylo sat down once again. "We will return to  _Starkiller_. We're due for a supply stop, the Stormtroopers are scheduled for rotation. We will have better access to communication with our informants from there as well. We will find Lor San Tekka's  _precise_ location and go directly to him."

Phasma cleared her throat, "General, might I interrupt for a brief moment?"

"What is it, Captain?"

"While the troopers have been brought up..." She paused, seeming to choose her words carefully. "I have done as you asked, made a selection of my best fighters available to Kylo Ren for training."

"Yes. The problem?"

Kylo curled his hands into fists on the tabletop.

"The problem is that he has no regard for their value. They are not clones, we cannot simply grow more whenever we please. They represent a considerable amount of time and resources. Yesterday WR-3270 needed to be decommissioned."

"Decommissioned? Why?"

"His injuries after his last meeting with the _Master of the Knights of Ren_ were too severe. Treating them was not cost effective."

Hux pursed his lips, took a breath, and nodded. "Then Ren will simply have to go back to simulations and droids." He looked at Kylo with a stern expression. "I shall have to remember not to be so generous in the future. You are all dismissed."

Hux rose from his seat and strode toward the door, flanked by Phasma and the woman who'd reported on Jakku before Kylo could protest.

***

He dropped to his knees, sitting his weight back on his toes, and closed his eyes.

“I’ll find him.”

The Knights had conferred: _Starkiller_ seemed strategically sound. Kylo reluctantly agreed. The stability of the base might well allow him to reach out better, to not have to account for the movement of the ship itself through time and space in his searching.

Kylo huffed in and out through gritted teeth, his arms and sides burning with the effort that swinging his saber over and over again took, and tried to focus his agitation into something less crackling and into the steady flow of the Force around him to find Lor San Tekka’s unique wavelength in the stream of it all.

Trembling hands gripped his knees hard as the energy around him crashed over him in waves. He struggled to stay upright. Never had a vision come that hard and that fast, never so easily.

Had he finally done something right?

_The Light will fool you, deceive you. The Light will try to make you see things that aren’t there, specters of the past and false futures. The Light will try to make you fear._

Kylo could feel the scratch of Snoke’s words, the lessons almost literally beaten into his hide through the course of his training in the Dark Side of the Force.

_Only the Dark will lead you to the truth, to the real light of the Force, away from the false power of the Jedi. Only the Dark will allow you to connect so fully with the universe as you dream of._

What was this?

Kylo tried to steady his breathing, desperate to fill his chest with more than quick gasps and control the spasming of his diaphragm. He let one palm rest against the floor, the plastic-y surface of the mat cool and sticking against his sweaty skin, to keep himself from falling over with the violence of the thing happening in his head and tumbling through the currents of energy all around him. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter still, trying to squint past the blinding glare of clashing sabers. Chills crawled over his skin, raising gooseflesh all over his arms and back. Heat flared on his face, like he was sitting too close to a campfire. He shook his head as if he could shake away the sounds of desperate agony and anger, shrill and shrieking cries.

_There’s still good in him! I know it! There’s still good…_

A cool touch on his face, a soft hand that he leaned into.

Eyes that seemed at once completely foreign and totally familiar.

The vague outline of a face, the taper of a chin, a smile too wide and too sad.

_Help him…_

Kylo groped at the vision, trying desperately to hold onto it, to see it through. Was it some lie? Some trick of the Light? Was it truth? Was it the future? Was it something happening in the present? Was it something Kylo needed to attend to? Something Snoke needed to know?

Could someone else already be intercepting Tekka and the map? Thwarting Kylo once again—or helping him?

His eyes filled with tears that were not his own, his head and chest and stomach felt heavy with sadness and betrayal and hurt—real, physical hurt turning his guts into knots.

Instinctively, Kylo reached out for his saber. It clattered along the floor, moving in short bursts until it reached his hand. He gripped the hilt hard as his whole world lurched forward, the vision pulling away with him with just as much sudden force as it had come.

“No. No-no-no-no!”

His mouth felt gritty, like he’d taken a deep breath in the middle of a sandstorm.

Had it truly then been Jakku?

He sagged onto all fours, the hilt of the saber still gripped tight. He felt utterly exhausted, though is body seemed to be humming, buzzing, glittering with the sheer charge of energy that he’d drawn from the space around him—from _space_ around him.

Through gritted teeth, Kylo barked out a command to the computer, “Begin… Be-begin… Simulation… One-Nine-Seven-Seven.”

“Beginning simulation.”

The hologram’s lightsaber burned and tingled when it struck him in the shoulder. Kylo sneered, spinning toward the projection as he got to his feet and swung his own blade in a fluid motion. The Twi’lek woman parried the blow and danced around him, keeping him moving, using his bulk against him.

Kylo huffed and snarled. It had been a long time since he’d used this simulation.

The Twi’lek fell and a new Jedi took her place, his robes swishing around him and making him look larger than he was. He looked regal with his well-groomed beard until he slipped his outermost robe off of his shoulders and let it fall to the floor in an exaggerated display. The garment billowed out and floated down gracefully, disappearing in delicate sparkle of light. The Jedi advanced aggressively, making Kylo back up and rethink his strategy.

The simulation program had been one of the few things from Ben Solo’s life Kylo Ren had kept. Something smuggled out of Skywalker’s possession, the little holodisk with the program copied onto it carefully clutched in the folds of his tunic and belt the last time he stood on ground protected by the Resistance as a son of the same.

To destroy a Jedi, one needed to understand their workings, how to best them in battle both physical and mental.

There were a few in the simulation who he recognized—from stories, from grainy holopics and memorials—he cut them down all the same. Each fading hologram was another severed tie, another step away from the Light, another ounce of strength.

Kylo was grunting and grimacing as he went on the defensive.

No matter where this one popped up in the random character generation, it always gave him trouble—its life-model was as fearless and creative in combat as he was foolish in his devotion to the Light.

Or so he was told.

Kylo slipped under the hologram’s arm and twisted around, slashing at thighs and driving his blade into the hologram’s side. It was resilient, making a determined face and lunging forward. If the Jedi was going to fall, he would do his damnedest to take his opponent with him. Kylo’s saber sliced through the air and met nothing, the hologram flickering and disappearing with a smooth—“End simulation.”

He turned with the heavy momentum he’d built behind his blade, the muscles in his stomach and sides tensing and twisting to support the movement. The crackling blade halted in controlled fractions just above General Hux’s left ear.

“What are you doing?”

“Stopping you from showing your ass, evidently.”

“Excuse me?”

Hux regarded him with cool intensity, standing there as though his life was not in immediate danger. The lieutenant behind him was wide-eyed and tense.

Still smarting from his earlier treatment, Kylo entertained the idea of just the _slightest_ curve of his wrist. Just a little off the top, so to speak.

“The one stipulation required of your training with my troopers was that you avoid killing them. Granted, the systematic destruction of _my_ ship in relation to _your_ ridiculous moods seems to have ceased—but a few credits here and there for repairs are certainly worth less than organic beings that represent years training and discipline and conditioning—housing, sustenance—“

Kylo wasn’t sure if Hux was sounding like Phasma or it was the other way around.

“I did not kill him.”

“Oh, but you did.” Hux approached with a careful gait, maintaining that fathomless tiny space between his temple and the deadly weapon in Kylo’s hands. He got too close, stepping into Kylo’s immediate space, breathing his air, leeching his warmth, pressing in on him with his overwhelmingly _angry_ energy. Hux looked up at him through fiery lashes, his lips and nose twitching into an expression of naked disgust. “You may not have given the sedative injection, or the cardio-restrictor, you may not have stood over him while he was decommissioned—but make no mistake, Ren, you are the reason WR-3270’s squadron is being restructured. You are the reason some other trooper will need to take up his duties aboard this ship, his place in battle. You are the reason for the generation of bytes upon bytes of data are now being generated in reports and notices, costs recalculated, reallocated. You are the reason another tropper must be pushed through training to fill a space in the line of vacancies you have created.”

“I could kill you now, as well, how many vacancies long will that line be?”

Hux’s sneer softened for a second, though Kylo may have imagined it. “Careful, Ren. Are you so sure of your place in your master’s favor that you’d threaten his general?”

Kylo forced his face to relax, his nostrils to unflare, his jaw to loosen. His body hummed, aching to resume the fight.

Hux stepped away, carefully dipping under the saber’s blade and turning to the lieutenant and shedding his greatcoat, hanging it neatly on the peg beside Kylo’s robe. He was curiously without gloves, though they could have been in his pocket. “What do you want, Mitaka?”

“Sir, we were discussing the—“

“We are finished. Leave us.”

“But, General—“

“Leave us.” Kylo’s heart pounded in his chest just a little harder.

“Yes, sir.” He squared his shoulders and turned on his heel.

Out of the great coat, Hux looked _off_. There was something simply not right. He glanced over his shoulder at Kylo and squinted. “Are you going to hold that thing up until your arm falls off?” Kylo slowly lowered his arm, switching the saber off, watching Hux warily as he bent and unlaced his shoes.

Shoes?

Not boots.

Realization dawned on Kylo—the uniform was wrong. He’d never seen Hux dressed this way, in the uniform that officers wore when they were off duty. No jacket and belt, just a very crisply ironed button-front shirt. No highly polished boots, no starched breeches. Instead a pair of slacks with a severe crease, polished shoes.

Hux’s socks came off, went balled into one of the shoes. He flexed long toes as he unbuttoned his collar. His fingers moved to the cuffs, the general’s bands on his sleeve disappearing into the even folds moving up his forearm. Kylo nearly laugh, half expecting the insignia to be tattooed on his flesh as well.

Hux’s arms were as creamy and smooth as his face and throat, slender but hard. He rocked up onto the balls of his feet feeling the spring of the floor, his lips curling upward only at the very edges.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Kylo became painfully aware of the way his undershirt stuck to his back, a whitish film formed on the black cotton, and the sloppy way his own loose slacks were rolled up over his knees. “Have you suddenly lost the ability to speak?”

“I don’t understand.”

Hux looked pointedly at the saber hilt still in Kylo’s grasp. He set it down beside Hux’s shoes and moved back to the middle of the floor.

“I won’t have you compromising any more of my troopers. Nor will I have you go back to slashing at data consoles like an overwrought child.” He stepped close, almost casually with the tips of his fingers resting lightly just inside his pockets. He was moving inside of Kylo’s range, too close for a swift kick but too far for an efficient handed strike. “You’re going to get soft fighting specters.” Kylo’s world tipped and the air rushed out of his chest all at once when he found himself flat on the floor, stars bursting in front of his eyes as he stared up at the ceiling. Hux hovered over him, feet flexed and ready to leap out of Kylo’s grasp should he try to yank him down. “So fight me instead.”

***

Hux fought dirty.

Kylo found himself on his back or his knees more than once, his feet swept out from beneath him and the air knocked from his chest.

Hux fought with closed fists and open palms with equal efficiency. He scratched with neatly manicured nails, deceptively short and filed sharp. He pulled hair by the ends and roots with equal force. He stepped on feet and slapped heels into knees He jabbed at pressure points and surface nerves.

Kylo skimmed into the outermost edges of Hux’s mind as they circled each other, sizing one another up for the next shot. He tried to catch some glimpse of Hux’s strategy, something that might reveal where his next blow would land.

“I can feel that.”

Kylo drew back. It wasn’t often that a non-sensitive called him out, it wasn’t often that they felt his mind-reading—or recognized what it was if they felt it.

Solo had.

Kylo rolled his neck and bounced down on his knees, easing himself to one side and then the other, looking for an opening.

What was most bewildering about the fact that Hux fought like he belonged out behind some cantina in the Outer Rim was that all of that was balanced against the perfect form undoubtedly learned at the Academy. Kylo couldn’t help but wonder if _both_ styles had been learned there.

Kylo advanced, twisting and slipping inside of Hux’s defensive range. He seized the front of Hux’s shirt, damp with sweat now and not nearly as crisp, and a hank of infuriatingly still-neat hair, driving him back against the wall.

Hux rasped at the impact, trying to throw the sheer bulk of Kylo off of him unsuccessfully. He stilled, calm except for the loud heave of his breath under Kylo’s weight, head wrenched back and teeth bared.

Kylo shifted, moving his arm into a bar across Hux’s throat. “Is this a better method, General?”

The temperature of Hux’s thoughts flared against Kylo’s mind, no doubt he remembered what he’d said such a while ago when he’d first proposed Kylo train with another warm body.

Hux thrashed once, twice—those wicked nails biting into Kylo’s biceps—and suddenly Kylo was stumbling backward with a knee forced between their bodies and then toes and heel to drive him off. Kylo’s fist clutched around several strands of loose hair, buttons pinged against the floor and rolled off.

Hux wasted no time, lashing out with quick hands and feet, giving him no choice but to answer in kind. Kylo threw his fist forward, Hux blocked, sweeping it up and off to the side. His other hand shot out lightning fast, grabbing Kylo’s shirt and pushing him back. Kylo struggled for lng seconds to stay upright, his knees bent nearly as if he were laying back on his bed. Hux’s leg came around and crashed down, the side of his foot slamming down into the delicate tendon at the back of Kylo’s ankle and forcing him to the ground.

Kylo let out an aggravated whine when he found himself on his back once again. Hux followed him down onto a knee, Kylo’s wrist gripped tightly in one hand, his arm braced against Hux’s bent knee and his elbow and shoulder threatening to pop. Hux’s other hand still held onto his shirt, pressing him down, weight leaning against Kylo’s collarbone.

“I have to admit, I am enjoying the workout.”

Kylo let himself shout with the discomfort in his arm as he twisted, hoisting his leg up and hooking his knee around Hux’s neck and rolling himself up and Hux down, wrenching his arm out of the general’s grip.

Kylo was tired, his body ached. It wasn’t an effective hold.

Hux somehow rolled them, escaping the hold and shoving Kylo down with a knee to the small of his back, wrists held tightly and his cheek pressed to the floor.

“Can you do nothing with that _great_ power of yours but worm your way into my head?”

So, he wanted a display of power? Fine.

Hux had the decency to gasp when the wave of Force slammed into him, pushing him off and away. He skidded back along the floor on his backside, letting out a breathy sound—the closest thing to a laugh Kylo had ever heard come out of him—and laid back, swiping at his brow with a forearm.

Kylo got to his knees and turned, flinging out a hand and sending another wave of Force toward Hux, feeling it wrap around his throat and tighten. Hux choked and gasped, but didn’t grab at his collar and neck in the futile manner that most people did. He let his arms rest against the floor, as if raising his hands in surrender. Kylo slipped up against his mind as he half stumbled toward him, legs burning and trembling but holding him up. Hux seemed pleased, satisfied—though with what, Kylo wasn’t entirely sure.

Kylo stood over him leaning down with a foot on either side, applying more pressure by fractions, watching Hux’s face flush with violent color and his eyes begin to water.

_Careful, Ren._

He dropped down, a spot of rain on the windshield of a speeder, settling his weight atop Hux’s torso, looming. He leaned forward, wanting to fill Hux’s view with nothing but his own face, wanting to teach him about _power_ and who held it.

Kylo choked when Hux’s hands shot up and closed around his neck, the sudden crushing pressure of them frightening and surprising in equal parts.

Hux’s lips and nose twitched, sneering, a husky sound escaping from him. Kylo gripped one of his wrists, trying to wrench it away, and his concentration wavering for a second.

 _Careful, Ren_.

He wanted to shout at Hux to shut up, digging his fingers into the vulnerable skin at the inside of his wrist. Kylo’s head was beginning to throb, his chest burning.

A shiver raced down his spine. He felt as though his stomach had dropped completely out of his body. Warmth prickled at the soles of his feet and crawled up the backs of his calves. Sweat rolled off the end of his nose and dropped against Hux’s cheek.

Kylo relented before Hux did, knowing he’d lost even as both of them were coughing and wheezing—Hux on his back and Kylo on his knees beside him, forehead pressed to the floor.

Control regained, Hux hoisted himself off the floor.

Kylo sat back on his heels, watching as the general pulled his socks back on and slipped into his shoes, long fingers making quick work of the laces. He rolled down his sleeves, smoothing the folds, and frowned in displeasure at the state of his buttons while he smoothed down his hair before slipping the greatcoat back over his shoulders.

“When we reach _Starkiller_ ,” he cleared his throat, looking down his nose at Kylo, his voice raspy. “I will make arrangements for your use of the training facility.”

***

Kylo charged ahead of the harried protocol droid that had the bundle of his clothing in its arms, his bare feet slapping against the cold floor. He gripped the hilt of his saber in his hand, shaking with the effort of not lashing out.

“Sir, you can’t—“

“Shut up.”

“ _Sir_ —“ Kylo was reminded quite annoyingly of the golden imbecile who seemed to be absolutely everywhere at home—Ben Solo’s home.

He whirled around when he reached the corridor that lead to his quarters, grabbing the clothing away from the droid. He lurched forward again, through his door, slamming it shut behind him with the flick of a wrist and dropping everything into a heap on the floor.

His hands trembled, his stomach filling with nervous rumbles, his heart fluttering in his chest.

Kylo closed his eyes and leaned back against the door, glad for the darkness of the room, and tried to put Hux’s expression as he loomed over him with his arm wrenched back, as Hux’s hands closed around his throat and pressed, out of his mind.

He pressed the heels of his palms into eyes for a moment. Unsuccessful, he rubbed at his throat, trying to banish the feeling. His cheeks burned with embarrassment at the whine that escaped him. The tingle in the skin of his neck raced down his chest and belly and settled deep.

He stood there, the wall holding him up, trying to ignore the pull in his groin, getting hard in spite of himself.

_General, please—_

Kylo sucked in a breath, filling his chest and stomach, and gripped himself through his pants. He squeezed and twisted, not sure any more if he was trying to get rid of it or give into it. He raised a hand to his throat, fitting his fingers into the throbbing pattern Hux hand left behind, just resting them there.

His cock pulsed at the touch, hot against the skin at the juncture of his leg.

Kylo slipped shaking fingers past the elastic at his waist and ran them over his tip, gasping ad dragging the fluid already drooling out of him down over his shaft, rubbing his thumb hard against that hyper-sensitive stretch of skin behind his crown.

_Fuck._

He imagined the feel of Hux’s hair in his fingers, the humidity of his breath against Kylo’s face as he sneered with his head pulled back.

 _Fuck_.

The heat in his face crept into his ears and down the back of his neck. He felt like a foolish teenager, beating off in the darkness before he was caught, racing toward completion as fast as he could and without finesse.

Kylo shouted out loud as he came, warm, sticky gobs _squelching_ through his fingers and sticking in the crease of his thigh. He stood there panting, his belly jumping, hand still tight around his cock as he seemed to float back down into his body.

He sank down to the floor, glad for the firmness of it.

His breathing was loud in the quiet and the dark, his heartbeat the only other sound pounding in his ears. _It pleases me for you to_ —Kylo wasn’t sure if he wanted to go to _Starkiller_ anymore.

“Fuck.”


	4. Chapter 4

It would be several standard days before they reached _Starkiller._

Kylo knew that he was, to a certain extent, simply being paranoid. However, he was also sure that Hux was taunting him.

He had not again been invited or required to attend an officers’ meeting, though their paths often crossed. Kylo had taken to walking the ship from one end to the other, trying to burn off nervous energy that refused to dissipate through hours upon hours of trying to meditate. He itched to go back to the training room and wring himself out properly, to be able to settle his body and mind, but…

It seemed like Hux was _everywhere_.

And it seemed like his eyes were _always_ on Kylo.

Smoldering glares settled on Kylo from beneath eyelashes that looked alternately translucent and made of delicate little flames. The tip of his tongue appearing between his lips, wetting them just slightly before disappearing once again. Light touches to his throat and adjustments of his collar accompanied knowing glances.

It was driving Kylo out of his mind.

What was worse, much worse, was that Kylo couldn’t be near Hux without feeling the skin of his neck tingle and throb—without that sensation travelling into his gut and settling there, warm and languid and pulling at him with greedy fingers.

Kylo could no longer tell if the images that filled his head were of his own making or if Hux was blatantly projecting his… whatever it was—fantasy?—knowing full well that he was looking. Kylo skimmed at the edges of Hux’s mind so often in the days following their bout that he sometimes didn’t realize he was doing it.

He avoided the training room, wanting and not wanting to repeat that sparring session. Kylo felt confused and angry and something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Alive.

For the first time in a while.

He’d felt present in his body, under his skin, in his head. He’d been challenged and answered with challenge in kind. He’d held back, yes, not using the Force to gain the upper hand until Hux had goaded him; but the movements had felt natural and real and solid—skin and muscle and bone beneath his fingers, warm and slick against him, steady pulse and heaving chest and flushed face—

Kylo laid in the darkness, stripped bare on the floor because the spring of his bed was too soft and forgiving. He raked his blunted nails over his chest and stomach, chasing the jittery feeling that danced down the lines of his body.

He felt pathetic, arching his back away from the cold tile, drawing his knees up, yanking at his cock, trying to get hard—every fiber of him screaming and awake and demanding and his body refusing to respond the way he wanted it to, needed it to.

_Fuck._

He balled his hands into fists, pressing down on his thighs with pointed knuckles that sent jolts into his knees and down to his toes. He whined in frustration and laid himself flat, breathing deep and soaking in the chill of the floor against the overheated skin of his back.

Kylo brought a hand to his throat, just resting it there and closing his eyes, getting acclimated to the sudden way his limbs began to hum—anticipating and wanting. He dragged his fingertips across the breadth of his neck and shivered hard, pulling his feet up and pressing the soles down flat. His cock pulsed, finally responding. He stroked with slower pulls, a looser fist, trying to be patient.

It wasn’t a skill he’d ever really acquired.

He ventured further, pressing harder, letting his breath get thin and reedy under his grip.

 _Careful, Ren_.

He quickened his pace, twisting his wrist in abrupt patterns and rubbing his thumb hard over his slit. His heart battered itself against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. His face flushed with heat, sweat beading in his hair, eyes watering. His chest grew tight, his throat burning with the effort of sucking in breath with the knuckle of his forefinger and his thumb jammed up under either side of his jaw.

Kylo released his grip, coming hard as he sucked in air, his insides twisting and jumping. He laid there for a long time after, turning onto his side and coughing and wheezing, feeling utterly unsatisfied even with the lingering tingle in the base of his spine.

He had an hour before he expected to be called to the holoroom by Snoke.

He shivered and pulled his blanket down from the bed, huddling under it.

***

Word that the Supreme Leader was awaiting him never came.

Instead, the last of the Knights returned to the _Finalizer_ , previously called back to Snoke for training of her own, a deeper tutelage in the Force evidently required.

Some inconsequential member of the crew came to alert Kylo, knocking hesitantly before pressing the intercom button at his door. “We’ve received transmission that Avaah Ren will soon be docking.”

“Is that all?”

“Y-yes. Yes, Ky—Lord… Master Ren.” His voice broke. Kylo reached out with the Force, stroking at the corners of his mind. It seems he’d drawn the short straw.

It was nice to know there were people aboard the _Finalizer_ that still feared him, even if General Hux was determined to make a mockery of him.

“Then leave.”

“Yes, of course.”

Kylo pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, trying to think of what he’d done to earn Snoke’s current indifference.

Avaah Ren’s shuttle pulled smoothly into the hangar as Kylo stood looking down from the level above. Technicians rushed around to steer it into its proper place and hook in service connections. The airlock released with a hiss, the Knight stepping into the opening and shouldering a rucksack and glancing around the hangar. Kylo took in a breath, raising his hand and ready to call out and announce himself.

The air filled with a metallic weight as Avaah Ren stepped down from the shuttle and let a wave of Force-energy roll out, searching. Kylo began to answer in kind _Here, I’m—_

Avaah removed her helmet and scratched between the plaits of her braids, a smugly satisfied look on her face. She _radiated_ with the Force, the air practically shimmering with it. Technicians and pilots and troopers gave her wide berth, sensitive or not they knew when caution was warranted. Avaah made a beeline straight for a group of Stormtroopers receiving their orders for the day, the shiny chrome of Phasma’s helmet distinctive among them. Avaah waited near the edge of the group, her eyes on Phasma.

“Captain.”

“Avaah Ren, you’ve returned.” She removed her helmet and tucked it almost primly under her arm. She glared at some low-level officer who stepped into her path until he moved.

“Indeed I have. I am glad to find you here as well. I understood a rotation was scheduled.”

They began to walk, Avaah looking up at Phasma beside her and ignoring everything else. Tools, equipment, and people alike moved out of their path, shoved aside by the Force to both the wonderment and horror of those around them.

“We are on our way back to _Starkiller_ now. I trust all is well—does the Supreme Leader have any further opinions to offer on the conditioning of the Stormtroopers?”

Avaah pursed her lips, “No.” She tucked her helmet under her other arm, moving just slightly closer to Phasma, fingers catching the hem of the captain’s cape in her fingers.

Phasma’s lips curled up minutely at the corners. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders just a touch straighter. “ _Avaah_ ,” she hissed under her breath.

Kylo tried to sense what passed between them and felt nothing but fog, whatever non-verbal communication there had been closely guarded. Phasma slid the tip of her tongue out across her bottom lip. Avaah’s head snapped around, eyes locking onto Kylo where he stood. He felt sharp pain at the base of his skull and drew back from their minds as quickly as he could. He turned on his heel and walked swiftly from the railing. He’d send whatever underling he found first to demand Avaah Ren’s presence, a full report on her time with Snoke.

He scoffed as he moved.

The two of them looked absolutely ridiculous together. Avaah with her blueish-white skin and huge eyes and pursed mouth. Avaah standing heads shorter than Phasma, never more than eye-level with the captain’s shoulders.

Avaah with her _stupid_ hair—he’d thought it was black like his own for months, and then they saw their first real sunlight since he’d become Snoke’s apprentice just before getting assigned to Hux and the _Finalizer_ for their base of operations and realized as the light hit her eyelashes that it was _green_.

She looked foolish, the sides of her head buzzed close, the top and back long enough to weave into two tight braids under her helmet—a crude mockery of the First Order regulations that she'd cut it into their first week aboard. He’d prodded at Phasma’s thoughts once as he watched the two go for a short bout in a training simulation—she liked that stupid hair.

 _The Heavy_.

Kylo laughed under his breath, the sound coming out like a growl through the regulator on the front of his mask. More like _The Tiny_ or the _The Irritating_. The others called her _Heavy_ long before Kylo became Master of the Knights of Ren. He never asked, they seemed to simply refer to each other by their specialty—the sniper with his long-range blaster, the monk with his extended meditation and frequent visions—he supposed it had something to do with Avaah’s tendency to rely on sheer force, _sheer Force_ , against an enemy rather than any other weapon.

 _The Gnat_.

She certainly buzzed around like one. Prim and entitled, born into a proper First Order family rather than the New Republic scum that Kylo had been birthed by. Not quite politically connected, never put through the Academy, but high enough in the social ladder to catch Snoke’s eye early on. She’d begun her apprenticeship before she’d learned to read galactic standard.

Kylo clenched his jaw and jerked his hand away from the hilt of his saber, making his fingers curl around the buckle of his belt instead.

All logic said that she should have been _Master of the Knights of Ren_.

He shook his head and rolled his shoulders, turning down the opposite corridor when he heard the sound of Hux’s voice.

***

Avaah glared and snarled audibly when Kylo lifted her off her feet and slammed her against the wall. He was breathing hard, his bare torso slick with sweat and his hair sticking to his neck in the most irritating way. She clawed at his face, catching his ears and yanking until he released her.

“You look like you’re about to crawl out of your skin, Kylo.”

She’d taken him by surprise in the canteen hours after she’d arrived. She ducked under his arm and plucked some piece of fruit he couldn’t name if he cared from the bin and slipped around to his other side. Her hair was loose this time, slicked back haphazardly. Her cheeks looked almost rosy, or as rosy as her skin could possibly get.

She took a bite out of her fruit, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She squinted up at him and took another bite. He could feel her at the edges of his thoughts, not exactly reading them, just imposing her presence.

“Meet me in the training room. I have business to finish attending to.” Her lips quirked up for a second and fell again. He caught the slightest wisp of a thought, gentle hands touching her torso and peeling something away. “We’ll fix you.”

He hated to admit that she was helping.

Avaah crouched low to avoid Kylo’s swinging fist and drove her shoulder up into his gut, knocking him off balance. She kept pushing him, hitting him harder and harder with quick bursts of energy. He was so focused on trying to deflect her use of the Force that he didn’t anticipate the sharp slap she landed across his face. Moisture bloomed on his tongue, hot and tangy as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and retaliated with a slap of his own.

She stumbled back and wiped at her mouth the same way she’d dried the fruit’s juice from her lips. She looked unhinged with the smear of dark, purplish blood across her cheek, clutching her stomach and laughing out loud.

Kylo took the opportunity to catch his breath, damning Avaah’s hearts and the stamina they offered her.

“Kylo Ren,” she shook her head and licked her lips when she’d gotten control of herself. “I can’t decide if you need a good lay or another round on the mat.” She grinned and lifted the hem of her shirt, exposing a somewhat dingy bandage on her flank spots of fresh blood dotting it, and scrubbed at her face with it.

She gave him a moment, glancing over her shoulder at him as she paced in circles and stretched her arms to keep her muscles warm.

“Ready to go again?” Kylo grunted in response, bracing himself for attack as he tried to get inside her defenses—almost impossible with how much smaller she was. He didn’t need to wait long before he felt the hard grip of Force energy against his throat. She smirked and squeezed before releasing him, brushing her consciousness up beside his.

When Avaah finally tired, either physically so or simply bored he wasn’t sure, she dropped herself down onto the floor, settling in with a ram-rod straight spine and closing her eyes.

“Did Snoke—“

“Shh.”

“But, I—“

“ _Shh._ ” Kylo made a fist and released it, jamming his feet down into his shoes.

“Ren.” Both knights turned at the sound of Hux’s voice. He raised his brow in something like amusement. Kylo hoped the flush in his cheeks could be passed as a result of vigor. “I see you’ve found an alternative sparring partner.” Kylo looked him over as casually as he could manage. He was holding one glove in his hand, the other half-removed, the off-duty uniform evident under the shelter of his greatcoat. “Pity.” Hux considered him carefully for a moment and replaced his gloves. “As you were.”

Kylo finished dressing himself in a huff and left Avaah alone to either meditate or pretend to do so. Later, he stared up into the darkness above his bed, unable to find sleep, his head filled with Hux’s dismissal and Snoke’s silence.

He reached out with his mind, stretching out toward the other knights and searching for the answers to at least one of his concerns. Somewhere in the same darkness on the other side of the wall, Avaah Ren slept nested into a pile of standard-issue pillows at the top of her bed, an arm tucked under her head and one petite foot hanging over the side. Her eyes snapped open and she blinked rapidly.

_Damn you, Kylo._

He smiled to himself, glad to have bothered her. He could hear her shuffling around, bare feet slapping against the floor as she stomped toward their shared refresher. He waited a moment before thumbing at the entry pad on his door, suppressing a satisfied smile at the sight of her with sleep-disheveled hair and crossed arms under the low light from over the sink.

“What do you want?”

He curled his lip up, “You reek of bacta.”

“Yes, well, evidently I’ve got an infection. You didn’t wake me for that. What do you want?”

He looked down at her, pressing in at her thoughts, snatching up at image of long fingers running under the strap of her undergarment and pink lips against her shoulder and a soft sigh escaping her own lips. She wasn’t the only one who could play at the game of intruding on guarded thoughts.

“I want to know what you’ve discussed with our Master—what his impression of the Lor San Tekka situation is.”

She regarded him for a long moment, moving her hands to her hips and giving him a better view of the fresh dressing on her side. “I suppose there _is_ a message I should deliver.”

“And?”

She waved him closer, rising up on her toes and leaning in as if to whisper, like spoken word would be more secure than the alternative. She swatted him firmly in the head.

“Get your shit together!”

“Son of a Ruskakk! You _fucking—“_

“You’re a fool, Kylo Ren.” She crossed her arms again. “You’ve let that general unman you. You’d be wise to put him out of your mind before Snoke next calls you.” Kylo drew in a breath, about to sling some half-formed barb. “I’m going back to sleep.”

His retaliation died on his lips.

“Nerf herder,” she muttered as her door closed with a quiet _whissh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so Avaah Ren is an OC, obviously, and I'm really excited about her. I think she's going to be a lovely foil for Kylo in any other fic I write.


	5. Chapter 5

_Ben._

_Ben, come home._

_Ben, please._

_BEN._

_REN._

_Ren!_

_Kylo Ren!_

_KYLO REN._

His throat was raw from screaming, his face hot, his head throbbing like someone was using a turbohammer on it. His cheeks stung with the sharpness of a backhanded slap.

“Come back!”

Avaah Ren was on her knees in front of him, crowding him, her face too close and her breath sharp with scent of tabac. She swatted his cheek again, effectively bringing him to his senses. Kylo, balanced on hands and knees where he’d been meditating, leaned forward. He pressed his face into Avaah’s shoulder, suddenly too exhausted to hold himself up. She jerked in surprise, her body tensing and her energy thrumming nervously before she sagged under his dead bulk.

“Why are you screaming your own pfassking name?”

“I—“ Kylo’s eyes stung with salt and he gulped in huge breaths. “I wasn’t.”

“I could hear you down the hall you big moof-milker. Phasma thought you were being murdered. I might be disappointed you weren’t.”

Kylo grimaced, but didn’t move. His limbs felt as if they each weighed as much as a Hutt.

“Tell me what you saw.”

“It’s happening again.” He hated the way Avaah picked him apart, her mind seeping in around the edges of his, making him lose his ability to keep his mouth shut. “I’m being torn apart. The Light, it—“

“Shh.”

It started slowly, an itch in the middle of his back he’d need help to reach. It spread and blossomed into white-hot pain that flared through his spine and danced along his nerves. He opened his mouth, a silent scream this time, and shook with it. He struggled to draw in breath, the pain gripping his throat and chest tightly.

“Avaah. Ahh—Avaah, stop!”

His mind went blank, a warm dark space where neither Light nor Dark seemed to touch him for the briefest of moments. All at once the pain stopped.

It was certainly more effective than prodding at healing bruises and contusions.

“Better?” Avaah’s arms were around him then, holding him up in earnest. “Put yourself back together and gather your things. Phasma says we should be arriving at  _Starkiller_ before the day is out.”

She eased him off of her, leaving him boneless with his forehead pressed to the floor. “You still reek of bacta.” He pushed himself upright, leaning heavily on one hand where he sat.

She wiped the wetness off of his face roughly and looked at him with mild repulsion. He glared back.

“And you’re still a nerf herder.”

***

Kylo shouldered his bag and made way for the exit ramp as soon as he received word that they had touched down. The  _Finalizer_  would be docked at base for some time for refueling and supplies and dealing with the Stormtroopers. He intended to find his quarters—or those he would simply claim as his own—and get to work locating Tekka as quickly as he could.

Finding Tekka would be the quickest way to deal with Skywalker.

Then maybe meditation would once again serve to free him from the bonds of his past and the call of the Light and let him explore the complexities of the galaxy.

He’d kill Skywalker by his own hand and be done with it.

Snoke would praise him, the Knights would unlearn the contempt and impatience they had begun to show.

Kylo smiled to himself, hidden beneath his mask, the layers of his robes and the protective shell of the helmet guarding him from the sharp chill of the wind that whipped around him as he stepped out into the open air.

It felt good to have land beneath his feet and a sky over his head again.

A dark smudge in the white landscape caught his eye. Hux managed to look every bit  _the general_  even in his cold-weather bundles—an obviously heavily lined greatcoat, a hat lined with deep red fur and flaps over his ears with an incredibly lush-looking scarf to match tucked into his buttoned-up collar. He was giving instructions to a group of technicians, his expression stony and serious through the windburn on his cheeks and nose. The flash of Phasma’s armor in the sun glinted off of the snow as she approached Hux. They spoke for a moment before his face twisted into a smile. His head snapped up, eyes settling on Kylo. He said something to Phasma and she glanced over her shoulder, speaking for a moment more before walking away and shouting orders at a group of Stormtroopers as she went.

A landspeeder pulled up alongside Hux, an impossibly bundled Mitaka at the helm. The general stepped up onto the sideboard and gestured for Mitaka to continue, one hand gripping a handle firmly. The speeder plowed forward through the wind as it picked up, Hux's coat whipping out behind him as he held a hand casually to his head to hold his hat in place.

Kylo made his way toward the entrance to the base on foot, picking his way through snow-covered debris from the clearing of the forests that had once completely covered the planet's surface and using the Force in careful balance to keep himself from sinking down into it all.

His robes dragged against the floor wetly as he made his way through the interior of the base, reaching out and mapping the place with his mind. The last time he’d been on the planet that would become _Starkiller_ it had been little more than a skeletal structure.

He was loathe to admit that the quickness and efficiency of the construction was a credit to Hux and the massive machine of the Stormtrooper program.

Kylo made his way through the corridors on quiet feet, startling Troopers as they made their rounds, those who knew him pressing themselves to the walls to allow him to pass and those who knew of him regarding him with wary nods of deference. He located a training room with minimal searching, the reek of salty sweat heavy in the air and the energy of a fight lingering.

He dropped his rucksack in the corner and shook off the last of the snow-turned-slush from his cloak before dropping it on top. He moved to the middle of the room and powered up his saber.

Kylo needed peace, focus—he needed his mind to go as blissfully blank as it had in the moment that Avaah had gripped him with the Force, making him burn from the inside out.

He drew in a deep breath, filling his chest and belly, and letting it out as slow as he could manage before swinging the saber in a wide arc. Though he slashed at nothing, he immediately felt the effort of the swing in his flanks and shoulders as he pushed the blade up through the air and yanked it down again. He worked himself into a lather, moving through forms as old as his memory and into those he’d learned on a desolate planet in a region he couldn’t name, a practice in shedding a skin that was tight and flaking.

Kylo powered down the saber, breathing heavily. He hunched his shoulders as if he could physically shield himself from the gentle push of the Force from Avaah standing in the doorway.

“What?” She was silent, shoving him forward from where she stood. _Gnat_. “Don’t you have a Stormtrooper to fraternize with?”

Avaah huffed. Kylo turned to see the annoyed sneer curling her lip. “Don’t you have a Jedi to find?”

“If you are not going to help, then leave.”

Kylo choked, a wet gurgle passing from mouth and nose as Avaah’s hand shot forward, her elbow audibly clicking with the motion. “I’ll help.”

Kylo let himself sink into the attack.

The hilt of his saber clattered against the floor when he dropped to his knees, exhausted and gasping for breath.

“I am _tired_ of your attitude.” Avaah dropped her own gear near the door, her helmet clunking loudly and rolling a few feet away from her bag. She stripped off her heavy coat, her frame instantly diminishing. “I am beginning to believe all this _nonsense_ about the Light is just that—just a way to keep Snoke interested.”

Avaah divested herself of another layer and flung her gloves on top of the pile. She watched Kylo get back on his feet, her hand resting on the hilt of the saber she rarely utilized.

“I’ll help you. And you’re going to find that kriffing map—or Tekka—or pfassking Skywalker—whatever in kriffing _hell_ you’re looking for—and I am going to have a single moment of uninterrupted silence without you and your ridiculous projections. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be _assaulted_ by such a chaotic cloud of Force all the time? If I am a _gnat_ then you are a pfassking hungry wampa.”

She gripped her hilt, her skin glowing eerily under the bruised-indigo of her blade. The air in the room hummed with her agitation. Kylo lifted his own blade, ready to go on the defense.

Avaah kept him on his toes.

She swung her blade hard, staying within his defenses and making him block with more strength than quite necessary behind it, trying to keep it away by catching it against his vented cross-guards.

Kylo gasped as Avaah’s blade pierced through the sweeping tails of his outer robes. A flick of his wrist sent her hurtling backward through the air, slamming hard against the wall.

Avaah sucked in air from where she slumped on the floor, an ugly look of defiance on her face. Kylo powered his saber down, daring her to attack him while it was, and stripped quickly out of his damaged robe, flinging it aside. He considered a moment before striping off his tunic as well. His skin was flushed and sticky over the top of his undershirt, the ropes of muscle in his arms standing out with the tension in his limbs.

Avaah got to her feet, leaving her saber on the ground and gesturing at Kylo with her chin. “Better keep your hands up.”

Her attack was fast, pointed knuckles hitting hard against sensitive spots, striking hard against his kidneys and gut, making him focus on keeping his morning meal down against the convulsions of his diaphraghm. Kylo struck back, seeking any weak spot he could find—a harder task when his opponent was half his height and dressed in leathers. He slipped around her, spinning to avoid a strike and get behind. He grabbed her, lifting her easily off her feet, his fingers digging into the slow-healing wound in her side and an arm barred across her neck

Avaah grunted and wrenched her body from his grip, driving her head back into his nose and leaving him stunned for long seconds, giving her time to drive her shoulders into his knees from her position on the ground and knock him off his feet.

Kylo hit the floor hard, the air leaving his chest in a rush.

“Focus!”

“Oh _what_?” He spat, rubbing his eyes roughly.

“Certainly not on what you have been.”

“And what have I been focusing on?”

“Everything _but_ the task at hand. You’re swept up in the outliers, distracted by all the things you don’t want to acknowledge.”

“I am not distracted, I am—“

“Being torn apart,” Avaah imitated his plaintive tone. “Because you won’t just _fucking_ admit that it’s there.”

“I was not fortunate enough to be born into convenient parentage and an reverence for the Dark, Avaah Ren. I have had to _earn it._ ”

She was on him in a blink, leaning very close and gripping his face too hard. “Stop lamenting and complete the task that Snoke has given you. Stop looking for Tekka and Skywalker, look for what or who is around them—stop trying to use the Force and let _it_ use _you_.”

Kylo sneered, “Is that a lesson you learn as a youngling?”

“Your jealousy is showing.”

“Ren.” They both turned to find General Hux in the doorway, barely concealing a roll of his eyes. “Your comrades are preparing to depart, I didn’t expect to find you here.” Phasma stood just behind him, her helmet off and her arms crossed. “You are hindering the Troopers from completing their daily training.” Avaah raised a surprised brow and swung her leg over Kylo’s body, getting off of him and moving away, something silent passing between the Knight and the Captain.

“I have not issued any orders, why are they leaving?” Kylo sat up and pushed himself onto one knee.

Hux’s expression turned incredulous, “I am not your messenger.”

Avaah hooked the hilt of her saber onto her belt and got herself back into her coat. “We have had instructions from Supreme Leader.”

“Excuse me?” Hux and Phasma watched in what Kylo imagined was at least semi-amused silence. Agitation flared through his belly and he called his saber to his hand from the floor.

“You are relying too heavily on our aid. Snoke thinks you should be finding the Jedi on your own—that is _your_ agenda and _your_ destiny, not any of ours. We have had our orders for some time. You were not meant to know until we’d already departed.” She shouldered her bag and moved toward the door. Kylo drew himself up to his full height as if that would deflect the insolence Avaah addressed him with. “General, Captain.” They stepped out of her way. “My comrades call, apparently.”

Avaah turned and bowed in Kylo’s direction. _Master,_ she said without speaking, a smirk on her lips. Phasma nodded at Hux and followed her, their twin footsteps clicking against the floor.

_Phasma’s knight was meant to distract him, then. Interesting._ Hux narrowed his eyes at Kylo, “What was that all about?” He looked around as if seeing the room for the first time, angry color flaring through his cheeks at the scorch marks on the floor and walls. _At least it is not another piece of vital radar equipment._

The Knight’s own cheeks flushed as he saw himself on his knees, apologetic.

“Nothing of your concern.”

***

Kylo laid in the room that had been assigned to him, a lesser officer’s accommodations, letting the complete darkness of the windowless quarters bathe his bare skin. If Snoke was going to keep him in the dark, so to speak, then he was damned well going to make use of it.

He imagined himself bodiless, boundless, an entity of Force rather than flesh. He let the energy of it wrap around him and into him, chased the burn of it and let it steal his breath away.

He felt as though he were floating, leaving his physical form behind even as tendrils of the Force gripped at his throat and his pulse hammered against it, anchoring him to his body.

The darkness of the room became the true darkness of space, interrupted only by distant star systems blinking in and out of existence as millennia raced by in mere seconds.

Kylo, or the energetic thing that had some vague memory of being Kylo and being someone else altogether, raced through space, hurtling toward the unknown.

He caught glimpses of things, passing feelings and thoughts. A huge holodisplay in a dimly lit room. A short woman’s silhouette, shoulder squared. He saw heavy-lashed eyes and a smile designed to woo. Hands gripped the controls of a craft, making it slide through the void like a hot knife through fat. He glimpsed at a navigational panel—

_Coordinates._

Kylo slammed back into his body painfully, like it had become too small to contain him. His flesh was hot and his throat was tight. His chest felt as though a great weight was resting on it. His teeth chattered and he feared his they might crack with the force of it.

Kylo ran his hands over his body, unsure for a moment if it was really his own. He cried out when calloused palms brushed against stomach and groin, his cock inexplicably and painfully hard.

He didn’t have _time_ for this, but he couldn’t ignore it.

Kylo wrapped a hand around his throat, feeling his racing heart against his fingertips there. His cock twitched, leaking against his stomach and moving with the strength of his pulse. He lifted his hand away, leaving behind the ghost of it, fingers of energy wrapping tightly in place of the physical ones. He wrapped his hands instead around his cock, squeezing hard at the base and stroking the shaft in quick, rough pulls.

His thoughts lost their structure, only anticipation remaining—

Praise.

Completion.

Success.

All in more iterations than he could count.

Hazy images churned through his head, a mess of color and feeling—

Pain shot through face and shoulder. Blood dripped onto a snow-covered ground. The same ground trembled and opened wide. A familiar mouth curled into a smile—a sneer—some expression he couldn’t describe. Blood on that mouth. On his face, their hands.

Those hands.

Kylo let out a strangled-sounding cry as he came, too soon and not soon enough.

It took several minutes before his legs would deign to function, shaky even when they did. Kylo yanked on his discarded trousers, hands unable to navigate a shirt or the suspenders dangling at his hips. He threw his cloak, finally dry, over his shoulders and took off bare-footed down the corridor.

Hux reared back, about to come through his door at the same moment Kylo arrived. “What is it?” He regarded Kylo warily, as if he were some wounded beast still capable of attack. Kylo couldn’t make the words form on his tongue. “Have you finally found it?”

Kylo nodded and sucked in a ragged breath, “A village, coordinates—the Resistance—I need Troopers.”

Hux nodded sharply and took a step back into his quarters, “Your shuttle will be waiting.”

The door _whished_ shut, leaving Kylo gaping at it.


	6. Chapter 6

Blue and red lights danced across Kylo's field of vision. They grew brighter, coming too close, blinding him. His skin felt cold and hot all at once. His hair stuck to his face and neck with the weight of the melting snow and his own sweat.

_What have you done, you foolish boy?_

Faces approached and retreated in quick succession, specters of the past and a hazy future making his head spin.

A young man, burning with anger, touched Kylo's face, his fingers tracing a stinging path from one side to the other.  _Don't!_

The woman who had haunted him for weeks—her sad smile painfully disappointed as she turned away, abandoning him like all the others.

The father he'd killed fell over and over again, the scent of singed fabric and cauterized flesh heavy in Kylo's nose and mouth.

The mother he no longer knew, screaming out in the silence.  _Stop!_

The girl, gritting her teeth at him. _You will never be as strong._

Kylo felt as though he were swimming upward against a current from a great depth. He struggled to open his eyes, feeling a layer of grit between the vulnerable organs and lids. The light in the room had too much blue, its spectrum skewed. He tried to focus on the vague shapes around him. Pain shot through his shoulder as he shifted in one direction and from his side into his core when he shifted in the other. He attempted to stifle a groan between lips pressed tight together and failed.

"You're awake."

"Yes, I'd imagine that's quite obvious." Irritation flared through Kylo's gut and made his cheeks color. He closed his eyes again and stopped trying to move, resigning himself to what he assumed was a bed in the sickbay. He tried to tame his heavy breathing, the sound of it loud in the quiet room and his flank aching with the expansion and contraction of muscle.

"I was beginning to believe they'd done you in trying to keep you still. I've never seen anyone fed so much Pharma and Dipill at once." Hux paused, the soft tap of his boots against the floor drew close. Kylo could feel his presence, looming and oppressive over the bed. "The doctors thought Tranqarest would be better, but we don't keep that on hand." He spoke as casually as he might discuss a particularly bland lunch.

"What happened?"

Kylo knew very well what happened. He'd been defeated by an untrained girl. He was a failure and a disappointment. He had surprisingly sharp recollections of the aftermath through the haze of his pain and anger. The ground opened up. He hadn't known it then, but the planet had been breaking apart, the base destroyed. He gleaned that information from the rumbling, stormy thoughts at the unguarded forefront of Hux’s mind as he hovered. The girl had been on the other side of the chasm, watching Kylo and then running to the traitor where he laid in the snow.

 _Get up!_  The fury on Hux's face had been unmistakable as he fisted his hands into Kylo’s robes and attempted to move him. Kylo had tried, honestly, but couldn't make his body respond to the demand.  _I'll not have Supreme Leader blame me for your loss—get up._

Hux’s lip curled in disgust, his jaw set tight. He pushed his hair out of his eyes with a gloved hand, leaving a streak of red across his face. Kylo had thought in his pained delirium that the fact that the general’s hair had fallen into even slight disarray was more disturbing than his blood across that brow. Hux grimaced and swiped at the falling snow that had collected at the corner of his mouth, leaving a smear there as well.

Hadn’t Kylo seen this? Known it was coming? Been aware that he was going to fail?

Troopers had swooped in and hefted him bodily off the ground. It seemed Hux had gotten ahead of them.  _Get him off the ground and into the shuttle, we must leave now!_

Kylo manage to focus his eyes on the snowy sky for a brief moment before he passed out entirely—from blood-loss or pain he wasn't entirely sure—he’d been convinced of his impending death when he saw the underbelly of the  _Millennium Falcon_ hovering overhead.

"You lost the girl. Lost the map. Allowed yourself to be bested in battle.  _That_  is what happened." Kylo opened his eyes and Hux perched himself of the edge of the bed and smoothed the sleeve of his jacket, picking invisible lint away from the edge of his stripes. "Snoke has—" He cleared his throat, a cruel upturn catching at the corner of his mouth. "Requested you be delivered to him."

Kylo's mouth went dry.

"It'll take us about a week to get there."

"How-how long have I been sedated?"

"A day and a night." Hux frowned. "You wrecked a Too-Onebee. It was necessary.”

“I don’t remember it.”

“I don’t think you were conscious. It just—“ He mimed something breaking apart with his hands. “Those droids are hard to come by.”

“You’ll just have to add it to my tab.” Kylo allowed himself the smallest of smiles, pleased with his wit as proof that his mind was clearing of the medication-addled soup. The expression made his face feel tight and hot.

Hux leaned close, his tone low and frighteningly calm. “Shall I add _Starkiller_ to your tab as well?” He reached out and pushed Kylo’s face to the side with the tip of his index finger. “I couldn’t understand at first why Supreme Leader demanded only life-saving measures with regards to your injuries when he made contact again. I think I do now.”

_Have a reminder of your failure._

_Your complete uselessness._

_Your incompetence._

_Killing Solo means nothing, gains you—the Order—nothing._

Hux’s mind opened like a broken dam in a storm and washed over Kylo with frightening force. He blamed Kylo for everything. If he’d gotten to Tekka sooner. If he’d pressed Dameron harder. If he hadn’t lost the droid. If he’d broken the girl. Each of Kylo’s failures piled on top of each other, building the ladder the Resistance needed to stand on to reach _Starkiller_.

Hux pressed his thumb into the saber burn just over the curve of his jaw. Anyone looking in on them might have mistaken the move for a concerned gesture. Kylo clenched his teeth and flared his nostrils against the pain lancing through his face.

“You’ve failed just as Vader did.”

Kylo saw himself on his knees, full of remorse. His face was open and wanting, his mouth slack and shoulders rounded. _General, please—_

“General,” he began through gritted teeth.

“Save it.” Kylo drew in a deep, slow breath. He blinked, his head filling with the scent of the leather. “You’ll be with Snoke soon enough.” Hux released Kylo's chin at last and stood, turning toward the door.  _And then I won't have to deal with you._

Kylo glared at the data-holo displaying his vital signs. The lights overhead flickered and the compact console erupted in a shower of sparks.


	7. Chapter 7

Kylo gritted his teeth and grunted, straining to sit up and stand, his most recent cocktail of Pharma and Dipill doing absolutely nothing for his discomfort or his nerves. A medtech stopped in her tracks as she passed his doorway, doubling back a few steps and practically leaping into the room. She immediately started babbling about how Kylo needed rest, how they were under strict instruction from the head of staff not to allow him out of bed, how he was badly injured and weakened and heavily medicated—and _stars_ how was he even standing with the amount of sedative that they’d given him?

Kylo allowed the tech to make him sit back down on the edge of the bed, feigning acquiescence to her concern rather than his own physical necessity. Her fingers danced over bandages on his shoulder and flank, carefully peeling them away. She frowned at dingy stains of blood and lymph that had soaked through them before tossing them in the hazard bin. Kylo wrinkled his nose at the scent of bacta, reminded of Avaah Ren and the Knights’ abandonment when he was on the cusp of success.

Perhaps _they_ should be in part to blame for the fiasco the last several days had been.

The medtech paused, her breath catching and her mouth open mid-rant, as Kylo looked up at her through his eyelashes. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time, her fingers hovering at the edges of the light bandaging on his face. Her cheeks colored fiercely. Kylo wasn’t unaware of the effect a well-placed smoldering expression could have even if he didn’t understand the appeal. He’d never thought himself particularly aesthetically pleasing.

“Lor—L—Master… Ren. This—this may sting.” She swallowed and scolded herself, a harsh thought that pushed off anything else—silly desire, a tinge of fear—and began to peel away the bandage.

“I was under the impression you were permitted only life-saving procedures.”

“Yes.”

“That’s bacta.”

She pursed her lips, clearly annoyed with the mandate that Snoke has passed down through Hux. “Only in concentrations strong enough to stave off infection and promote healing. Not a complete fix. You’ll have rather a nasty set of scars.” _Completely unnecessary._

“Where is my clothing? I wish to leave.”

“You cannot.” _How did the data-holo get broken?_

“I will. Where is my clothing?”

She was outwardly silent as she smoothed new dressings over his wounds. Kylo allowed it, listening with mild entertainment to her internal struggle as to what and whether or not to tell him had become of his clothes and her irritation that Supreme Leader would not allow the medical staff to do their job to their fullest abilities. He nearly laughed, covering it with a vaguely pained sound. _I don’t even care if he can hear me. Big mystic so-and-so. What good is a bunch of ugly scars going to do? Nonsense. Go ahead, strike me down now!_

“We had to cut you out of them.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your clothes. We had to cut you out of them. You were in shock and absolutely no help. We couldn’t tell if you had wounds elsewhere. It was necessary.” She crumpled the packaging from the new bandages into a ball and pitched them into the bin as well as she made her way to the narrow closet on the opposite side of the room. “This is really all that’s left.” She opened the closet and gestured inside to his boots and cape. “It took three washes to get all of the blood and dirt out of that.” Her frank tone was covering her mounting nervousness, hyper aware of who Kylo was and what he was capable of now that she wasn’t otherwise occupied. “You should lie back down. You need rest. I understand we’re on course to deliver you to Supreme Leader. You’ll need your strength.”

“I’m not going back to bed. Where is my helmet, my saber?”

“You weren’t wearing the helmet when they brought you in.” She paused, swallowed, and closed the closet door. “General Hux took your saber after we’d managed to get you sedated enough to pry it out of your hand.”

“Then I am going to him. Fetch me a shirt.”

“I can’t do—“

“You can and you will. Fetch me a shirt.”

The medtech left the room with some hesitation, finally pushed away with the Force to do as Kylo commanded. He waited until she was off down the corridor to the supply room, taking deep breaths and trying to steady himself. He reached out a trembling hand, opening the closet door and drawing his boots and cape to him with wisp-thin tendrils of energy, all he could truly spare. The medtech returned with a fresh set of pants and a shirt.

“I would offer to assist, but I am breaking orders already.”

“Leave me.”

She frowned so deeply Kylo thought that her face might freeze in that ugly expression. He shook his head, banishing the familiar paternal teasing from another life from his memories. She hesitated in the doorway but complied, leaving Kylo to dress alone.

The clean scent of the clothes she brought made the stale scent of sweat and blood hanging on him and in the room all the more obvious. He stripped out of the loose, pajama-like pants he was wearing and swiftly got into the clean clothes before his swaying turned to falling. He sat down hard on the bed once more and shoved his feet down into his boots, fumbling with them for a long, frustrating moment. He gathered what little strength he could, fastened his cape around his shoulders and stood before his body could make him change his mind.

Kylo ignored the shouting of the doctors and medtechs behind him, ignored the agitated beeping and whirring of the droids as he pushed past them. A pair of Stormtroopers with command colors on their shoulders attempted to bar his exit at the main door of the sickbay. “We have orders to—“

Kylo swept his hand across the doorway, knocking the Troopers aside. “I don’t give the slightest kriff about your orders.” He gasped and gritted his teeth and continued on, reaching out with what energy he could spare to locate Hux on the ship.

Kylo’s brow was shiny with sweat when he finally caught up to the general. He spoke through teeth gritted against pain. “General, I’ve been told you have my saber. I want it back, immediately.”

Hux handed a datapad to Mitaka, the lieutenant hurrying alongside to keep up with Hux’s long-legged strides. “Push that acquisition through with priority status.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will be working in my quarters for the remainder of my shift. I will be available, of course.”

“Yes, sir.” Mitaka eyed Kylo warily, pushing his shoulders back in a show of fortitude that didn’t quite match his expression.

Hux narrowed his eyes, noting Mitaka’s discomfort and Kylo’s overt dishevelment. “You’re dismissed, lieutenant.”

Mitaka turned on his heel and doubled back in the direction the officers had come from. Kylo gripped his cloak closed, fists balled inside the opening. “ _General—_ “

“I heard you the first time, Ren.” He continued to walk. “I was under the impression that you would be under mandatory bedrest until we reached your rendezvous.”

“General, you will deliver me my saber now, or—“

Hux stopped in his tracks, crowding Kylo against the wall. “Or what, Ren?” He yanked off a glove placed his hand against the scanner beside his door as he glared, stepping inside as soon as the door slid open.

The threat died on his lips, too much of his energy and conscious effort pulled toward remaining upright. The medications he’d been given seemed to be getting a second wind—perhaps something in the dressings—though the discomfort of moving was still close to overwhelming without the thrum of anger and battle-lust to keep driving him forward. Kylo sank hard into the nearest chair, sitting beside Hux’s desk and surveying the rooms quickly. Hux scowled openly at him, his offense at Kylo’s self-invitation into his quarters evident in both his outward carriage and the fizzle of energy in the air pinging against Kylo like hail on a viewport.

Kylo pressed the heel of his palm into the wound in his side. “My saber, General, please.”

Something unidentifiable as anything other than _wicked_ flashed across Hux’s features. He shucked his coat, hanging it very purposefully on the garment form beside the door and took his time crossing the room. He deliberately removed his other glove, considered his newly bared fingers, and put the same hand he’d used to open the door to his quarters against the security panel on the door of the wall safe.

Hux crossed back toward Kylo, saber in hand, holding it out to him. “I’ll have my helmet as well.” Kylo covered a pained gasp by clearing his throat. “I assume you have it.”

“I do not.”

“Then where is it?”

“Is your memory truly that unreliable or are you deliberately being as vexing as possible?”

Kylo set his jaw in response. When did he begin to allow himself to feel cowed by Hux? The general was staring at him expectantly, his arm still extended, the saber still gripped loosely in his hand.

Kylo took the saber from Hux, clutching it like a talisman against the energies swirling through the room around him, agitated by both of them.

He knew exactly when it started—with the tilt of a head and the squeak of a shoe against the floor.

The silence stretched between them uncomfortably. “You were not wearing that ridiculous helmet when I retrieved you nor did I think it was worth the risk of remaining on a planet that was actively breaking apart beneath my feet to spend the time looking for it.”

Kylo closed his eyes and clutched the hilt in his hand just a little tighter. The sound of his helmet hitting the metal walkway with a _clang_ reverberated in his head. Hux’s memories came in a flood with the very slightest of prodding—the snow falling through the trees, the ground splitting open, the datapad in his hands pinging with some kind of signal, a Trooper shouting that he’d found a trail of blood drops in the snow. He’d considered taking the girl and the traitor, to attempt to salvage the dregs of the mission that Kylo had so completely complicated, and thought better as the ground shook beneath his feet.

“Quite reasonable, considering the circumstances.”

“Is that all?”

Kylo looked up at Hux, following the line of Hux’s uniform from his belt to his collar. “Yes.”

“Then you will report back to the sickbay.”

Kylo got to his feet, just a little too quickly, and steadied himself. “I will not. I am not an invalid.”

“Then I will be forced to have a medtech attend to you in your quarters. I will not be blamed for your self-sabotage when I deliver you to Snoke.”

Kylo turned on his heel and headed for the door. “Whatever you please, General.” He smirked to himself, satisfied with his flippant tone.

“It pleases me for you to _obey_.”

Kylo’s heartbeat thundered in his ears and the door _whished_ closed behind him.

“Ren—Sir—You—you must go back to the sickbay.” The medtech who had redressed his wounds and fetched him clothing came rushing along, flanked by a pair of Troopers. He cast a withering look on her and pushed past. “ _Please_.”

Her panic was like white noise in the air, completely unguarded. Kylo continued several paces before stopping, letting the saber’s blade spark against the bulkhead as it powered on. There was an intake of breath behind him, the sound of the Troopers’ armor as they ushered the medtech down the corridor to safety.

At least he could still invoke some level of healthy fear.

Kylo wasn’t sure how he was remaining upright by the time he reached his quarters. He stumbled through the room, smacking at the door release for the refresher and falling to his knees once inside. He retched hard, bile burning his throat and mouth and the clenching of his abdomen sending searing pain through his side. He scolded himself silently with his unmarred cheek pressed to the cool metal floor, shivering with overexertion.

He wasn’t a child—he wasn’t frightened little Ben Solo listening to a ghost in his ear and the disappointment and concern in his family’s voices—he shouldn’t be this way.

The high-stress of the last week finally crashed over him, forcing him up onto his knees once again. He needed rest and food. He needed to meditate, to collect himself. He glanced toward the adjoining door that led into Avaah Ren’s quarters, resentment flaring up in his gut as sharp and hot as his pain.

Tonight he would rest.

Kylo gritted his teeth and got to his feet, half-shuffling toward his bed before falling into it. He glanced up at Vader’s helmet on its pedestal, sick with shame, and turned away.


	8. Chapter 8

Kylo was stiff and sore when he woke, his bandages soiled anew. He peeled them away himself, careful not to yank at his raw skin too much, and examined the wounds.

He wondered briefly if the Wookie had purposefully missed the shot. Ben Solo had seen him shoot fowl out of the sky from hundreds of yards off. He was fleetingly grateful for whatever had made Chewbacca hesitate, if that were the case. He couldn’t finish his mission if he were dead.

The Wookie might come to regret the decision not to shoot to kill.

He twisted and shifted, watching the way his raw skin rippled in the refresher mirror. Satisfied that the wound was simply prone to weeping rather than completely open, he moved on to his shoulder and neck.

With the bandaging lifted away, the look of the injury made him recoil. Unlike the blaster shot, the lightsaber’s slash had at least partially cauterized the opened flesh. The undamaged skin at the edges was irritated and tight and pink. He swung his arm experimentally, wincing at the discomfort.

Kylo hesitated at the edge of the bandage curled under his chin—if the ugliness of his shoulder was any indication, his face was going to be horrific.

_The face of my son_.

Kylo set his jaw and worked his nails under the edge of the adhesive and peeled the bandage away slowly. Uncovered, he tested his range of motion, opening his mouth wide and exaggerating his expressions.

At the very least he was luck to still have both eyes.

He laughed to himself darkly. What was sight to a Force-user? The Master of the Knights of Ren? The chosen one of the Supreme Leader?

He didn’t need to wait until the Force twisted his features into something horrific, he could do it himself quite well.

All things considered, he didn’t think it wise to make his way to the training rooms. He still felt very much physically weak, like he’d been hit by a landspeeder going at top velocity. His stomach still lurched and he remained covered in a film of stress-induced sweat.

Ignoring the pain, he moved his furnishings against the walls to clear a wider space in the middle of his quarters. It wasn’t quite sufficient, but it would do. Powering his saber on, he slashed it in a lazy arc, testing his strength.

He could push through it, let the Force flow through his movements, open himself up as a channel.

Kylo was unconscious of the time he spent spinning and striking at the air. Eventually his pain evened out into a steady throb and then disappeared altogether as he became accustomed to the new baseline of sensation.

He was almost disappointed when he was alerted to someone at his door—a droid from the kitchens sent to deliver him something to break his fast, the tag on the tray a very stern directive from the head doctor to eat and rest that he was already very decidedly ignoring in part. He glanced at the chronometer on the wall as he pulled apart a stack of hotcakes with his fingers. It was just after 0800—standard hours. If he moved quickly he could find a seat at the table for that morning’s regular officers’ meeting before the others did.

The arrival of the medtech, who seemed to not be able to settle on her assignment being unfortunate or not, would spoil his plans. She gasped as he opened his door to deposit his tray in the garbage chute at the end of the hall. “I-I-I—I’m here to examine you. And make sure you’re getting rest.”

She glanced past him into his quarters and readjusted the bin of supplies under her arm, frowning at the obvious redecorating he’d done. Kylo slipped around her, dealt with the remnants of his meal, and moved back through his door. “Make it quick, I have duties to attend to.”

She squinted and huffed but didn’t argue.

“Sit.” Kylo gave her an incredulous look. The medtech flushed nervously. “Please.” She cleared her throat and crossed the room to place her bin down on the bed. “You’re too tall.” Kylo smirked and obliged as she snapped on a pair of bright white gloves.

The medtech instructed him to lean over and move his arm so she could get at the wound in his side. She poked and prodded and smoothed a fresh layer of bacta and a clean bandage over the whole thing, tapping a note or two into her datapad when she was done.

“You took the bandages off yourself?”

“Of course.”

“You shouldn’t do that.”

“Are you going to stop me?”

“I—no. But the fact remains.” She was getting short with him. He liked that better than her candor the day before. It was easier to deal with, easier to relate to. She put her used materials into a package she dug out of the bottom of her supply bin and manhandled him until his shoulder was at the right angle for her to treat. Her brow creased in concentration, focusing on the work in front of her dissipating some of her nervousness.

With her gazed fixed on his flesh, he was just another patient rather than a fighter with powers she didn’t quite comprehend.

She moved on to his neck before pausing once again to tidy the scraps. She was gentler with his face, holding his chin delicately and tilting his head this way and that. She shone a light in his eye, apparently concerned for its function after pressing her fingertips into the puffy swelling below it. She smoothed a layer of bacta on and began peeling open another fresh bandage.

Kylo caught her wrist, gripping it perhaps just slightly too tightly. She gasped but refused to look frightened. “Leave it.”

“But—“

“I don’t want it.”

“It’s—“

“I don’t like feeling the pfassking bandages on my face all day. It’s… it’s annoying.”

He gave her the most innocent look he could muster, pushed her gently with the Force, just the slightest tip into complaisance. “Fine. Just… keep it clean.”

“Of course.”

“And leave the furniture moving to the maintenance droids.” She picked up her datapad once again and tapped in a note. _Patient acting against medical advice._ “Why are you so sweated? Nothing appears infected.” She pointed a device at him and a light swept out over his body. “No fever.” She tapped at the datapad again, reminding him very much of the way Hux deliberately refused to visually acknowledge Kylo’s presence at times. She glanced up at him, her eyes sweeping over his face and stopping on his mouth before meeting his eyes once more. “Do you feel alright?”

“Yes, of course. I was training.”

“Training.”

“Yes, with this.” He held his saber aloft and cocked his brow high.

An argument formed and died on her lips, realization dawning on her. She nodded once and gathered her supplies up once more. “I’ll be back to change them again tomorrow.”

“I can do it myself.”

“Doctor’s orders.”

Kylo rolled his eyes and got to his feet, crowding her out the door, silencing any further comment. He didn’t need to be taken care of. He couldn’t afford to be seen as weak in any way, not after—

Not after.

He glanced at the chronometer once more and swore out loud, the meeting had likely already started. If that damned medtech would have just left him to his own devices he’d have been able to make it there at least on time to show them all he was on his feet, that he wasn’t so easily defeated.

He didn’t need to be able to read minds to know what they were probably all thinking.

He glanced at Vader’s helmet on its pedestal, feeling inadequate under its blank gaze.

Kylo eased himself into loose slacks at a tunic, hating the vaguely Padawan look the getup had. He shoved his feet into his boots and took off for the meeting room over the control center at the quickest pace he could muster without looking desperate, saber bouncing on his hip.

“No, it is simply a mid-point. We will not be submitting to any kind of direct inspection or contact from Supreme Leader. Kylo Ren will disembark there, he will be taking his command shuttle to wherever Snoke instructs. We are not privy to—“

Kylo stood in the open doorway, filling his chest with breath and squaring his shoulders, painting a scowl on his face.

“Ah, Ren.” Hux straightened in his seat. The soft murmur from those engaged in side-conversations quieted immediately. “Quite unnecessary for you to be here. You’ll be with Leader Snoke soon, no need to concern yourself with the trivialities of daily operations.”

Kylo stayed quiet until he’d seated himself in his usual spot. “Until Supreme Leader sees it fit to assign me otherwise, I am still a commander of this ship. The trivialities of daily operations are certainly of concern to me.”

Hux’s lips twitched into the very slightest hint of a smile. _What game are we playing now?_

The meeting continued. Kylo caught snippets of thoughts—boredom over the reports, mortification over the look of his face, curiosity at the bandage peeking out over his collar and what else there might be, complete confusion as to his attire, fear at coming within some physical proximity of Snoke—he tried to tune it all out, to focus on the task at hand.

“Ren?”

“Yes?”

“I asked if there is any word on whether or not we will be receiving the Knights of Ren once again.”

“I don’t know. I suspect that they will make contact if they need to return.”

Phasma sat up a little straighter, raised a brow, “Are you not their direct commander?”

There was the slightest hint of longing hidden behind her cool, authoritative tone that made his stomach turn.

Kylo didn’t deign to answer. “I assume they will return when I do.”

_If you do._

Hux nodded and sat back in his seat and crossed one leg over the other. “And when do you think that you’ll be returning to us?”

“When Supreme Leader sees fit.”

Hux regarded the stripes on his sleeve for a moment and then looked back up at Kylo, regarding him with both distain and curiosity in equal measures.

Kylo caught a glimpse of something flickering through Hux’s imagination—Kylo on his knees, his face flushed and his hair damp with sweat, some shadowy figure looming over him—did he believe Snoke intended to punish him? To not allow him to return?

_…obey._

Kylo let his hand fall from the table to rest on the hilt of his saber. He would not tolerate any form of mockery—from Hux or any other person at the table. Dealing with them would be as satisfying as killing Solo hadn’t been.

The other officers at the table droned on. Kylo let it fade into the ever present hum of the Force, picking out the few things that were relevant, in a kind of half-meditative state. He focused his energy on his injuries—visible and not—trying to speed along his healing before he faced whatever it was that Snoke had planned for him.

“Ren, will you require any Troopers while you’re away?” Phasma was inquiring of him.

He considered it for a moment, “No, I don’t believe so.”

“Will you be utilizing the training rooms before you depart?”

“No.”

Phasma nodded, already making new training rotation schedules in her head. She continued her report, mercifully the last on the agenda. When the meeting finally adjourned, Kylo rose from his seat and turned to leave.

“Wait.”

Kylo tried to make his shoulders lose their tension. “General.”

Hux seemed more at ease than he had in months. He’d been sitting in an almost leisurely posture, his back for once not ram-rod straight, his hands bared with his gloves on the table beside his datapad. His chin was propped up on his fingertips, inclined in Kylo’s direction. It was alarming.

“I received a notice that you were acting against the advice of the medical staff.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Hux smirked, “Yes, of course you can.”

The general rose from his chair and stepped closer to Kylo. The knight’s hand remained firmly on the hilt of his saber as Hux reached out. His hand, cool and smooth, gripped Kylo’s chin with surprising care and tilted his face this way and that much like the medtech had done.

“This looks much better.”

“Yes.”

“I imagine the bandages were annoying.”

“Yes.”

The room had cleared, Phasma the last to leave with a nod of her head and a wave. Hux’s fingers pressed in just slightly harder, Kylo swallowed hard and gripped his saber tighter. His skin burned under the coolness of Hux’s hand as it settled around his throat. Every fiber in him told Kylo to be on guard, to lash out.

He stayed still.

“It’s a truly a shame Snoke is calling you back so quickly.” Hux traced the edge of the bandage, smoothing out the ripples in the adhesive from the movement of Kylo’s neck beneath. “And that he wouldn’t allow us to just throw you in the bacta tank and be done with this mess. It’s a waste. Inefficient.” He paused, removed his hand and crossed his arms over his chest. “Truthfully, I was hoping you’d have a speedy recovery—I very much enjoyed our training session. It’s been a long time, and you’ve been studiously depriving me of another.”

“General, please—“

“General!” Mitaka, mercifully or not Kylo couldn’t decide, bustled into the meeting room with a distressed look on his face, his fingers flying across his datapad. “Our radar is picking up unidentified crafts within the next parsec. It may just be smugglers, but there’s a strong possibility that—“

“Resistance?”

Mitaka nodded in a harassed manner and Hux motioned for the datapad to be handed to him. Kylo stood rooted to the spot, his heart battering itself against the inside of his chest and his mind racing twelve parsecs a minute. He watched Hux’s hands move over the display of the datapad, zooming in and out, grouping and ungrouping signals. He remembered the feel of those fingers on his skin, those nails grazing and scratching—did anyone else know how sharp they were? How unfairly he fought?

“Ren?” Hux’s voice yanked Kylo out of his reverie. “Are you just going to stand there?”

He shook his head and moved back away from the table, hesitating for a moment as Hux turned back to whatever Mitaka was showing him again. He smoothed the front of his tunic, feeling ruffled after being touched. He glanced down, stepping around his chair to push it back into place and laid eyes on Hux’s gloves sitting on the table.

Fingertips outstretched, he pulled them toward him, easily making them fly into his waiting hand, and pocketed them.

It was petty.

It was childish.

It was satisfying.

Kylo couldn’t lash out at Hux, not without overwhelming justification—and Hux was always _so careful_ with his taunting and prodding—unless he wanted to deal with admonishment from Snoke. The gloves were a decent substitution, worn soft and smelling of leather and whatever the hell it was that Hux tended to smell like.

Soap. It was probably soap.

Kylo returned to his quarters, his stomach rumbling as he cast the gloves aside. The chronometer told him that hours had crawled by while he was in the officers’ meeting. He used the comm-link by the door to order himself a meal and settled on the floor to meditate while he waited, hands laid flat on his thighs and backside resting on his heels.

He tried to let himself fade into his hunger and pain, to be more feeling than flesh—to find that perfect blackness that Avaah had inflicted upon him.

_What have you done?_

_You’ve failed._

_FAILED._

_Come back. Come back. Come back._

_Gained you nothing—gained the Order nothing._

_There’s still good in him—_

_—you foolish boy._

_It pleases me—_

_General, please—_

Kylo’s throat felt tight and raw, a vice-like grip making him strain to draw in breath. His chest burned and his stomach fluttered. His hair stuck to his cheeks and neck with sweat, his tunic growing quickly damp.

A gloved hand smoothed a wet lock away from his face. _Serve me how, Ren?_

Kylo wrenched his eyes open and stumbled toward the door where an alert had sounded that he had company. He took his meal tray from the droid on the other side and shut the door once more. He very purposefully distracted himself with the food, though hardly tasting it and not even certain what he was eating from one bite to the next.

The food did well to stave off his mounting headache and the painful twist of his gut.

The chronometer, it seemed, was actively taunting him, standard minutes ticking by too fast and then too slow.

He shoved his tray aside, sucking on a sticky thumb and tapping his foot involuntarily with nervous energy. Even in the carefully temperature-controlled environment, one that always leaned toward too chilly, Kylo felt like he was burning with fever. He soothed his hand over his forehead and down the back of his neck—nothing wrong, all in his head. He stripped his tunic off all the same in attempt to relieve himself, carefully picking at knotted closures and grimacing as he twisted to reach them.

“Fuck.”

He stood up away from where he’d seated himself to eat and paced back and forth, shrugging out of his open tunic as he went and letting it fall to the floor carelessly.

“Pfassking hell.”

He ran his fingers though his hair, pushing it back roughly.

“Kriffing—fuck—bumblefluff!” The toe of his boot walloped hard against the bulkhead. He flung himself down onto his bed, immediately regretting the action at the discomfort that flared through his much-abused torso and arm. “Pfassking bumblefluff is what this is.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, thumb sinking into the slash across his face. “Kriff!”

Kylo laid there, trying to clear his head. He’d sleep if he could quiet his mind enough.

Sleep until they reached the rendezvous spot where he’d depart in his shuttle for parts unknown, his navigation guided by his connection to Snoke.

Sleep so he didn’t have to think or interact.

Kylo turned, burrowing down as much as he could, suddenly cold, pulling his rumpled cape over his shoulder to ward off the chill. His vision swam and refocused, zeroing in on the gloves on the pillow beside him. He pushed the cape away and sat up, twisting the gloves in his grip. He laughed to himself, tugging one on. It just barely fit—Hux’s hands about comparable in length to his own, but not quite as wide. His fingers felt tight as he flexed them within the leather sheath. Kylo studied his hand, turning it over and back again, enjoying the feel of the soft, smooth glove against the rough surfaces of his fingers and palms, calloused from years of swinging and gripping one saber or another.

He tugged the second glove on.

Kylo closed his eyes and touched his arms, his face. It was like someone else was touching him, the unexpected softness of the gloves against his skin almost startling. He moved his hands to his neck, his chest, his stomach. He rubbed with his palms and traced patterns from one mole to the next like constellations with his fingertips.

Kylo shook his head and put his hands determinedly down on his knees. He was being foolish.

Try as he might, he could not ignore the flush spreading through his cheeks and across his chest, nor could he ignore the warm pull low in his belly.

He took a deep breath and set his jaw and popped open the button on his slacks and shoved a gloved hand down into the band of his underwear before he could muster the sense to hesitate. He shuddered hard, stroking himself fast and rough, feeling too large for his curled fingers in the too-tight glove.

He licked his lips and smoothed his unoccupied hand up, through the dark trail of hair that curved around his navel and over his chest. He kneaded at his unmarred shoulder, the tension across his back only increasing, and slowly fitted span between thumb and forefinger up around his throat.

“Please.”

_Please, what, Ren?_

He gasped, a jolt of pleasure shooting down his back and dancing into the soles of his feet.

“General, please.”

_General, please, what?_

Kylo moaned out loud, shuddering hard and curling his toes tight inside his boots. He eased himself back against the mattress.

“General… _please!_ ” Both hands squeezed just fractions tighter. He stroked faster, desperate with want—need—utter embarrassment. His eyes watered and his face grew hot. He sucked his belly in, holding his breath and begging the universe for release.

“Lord Ren.”

Kylo wasn’t sure at first if the voice was in his head or had been an actual sound. Realization dawned on him in seconds and he yanked his hand out of his slacks, the sudden loss of contact and friction nearly as painful as the wound in his flank.

“Report to me immediately.”

Kylo failed to suppress a whine, a high, tight sound in his chest and nose. He flailed as he sat upright once again, glancing frantically at the door—no, closed—then at the comm-link. The little green light was lit, indicating the line was open.

“And bring my gloves.”

The light went out.

Kylo panted, fast and hard. His head grew light. He looked down at his shaking hands in horror.

Hux didn’t know. He _couldn’t_ know. There was no way, no possibility.

He refused to give Hux the satisfaction of an immediate response. Kylo took a moment to compose himself as much as he could. He took several deep breaths, tucking himself away and fastening the button on his slacks, willing his erection to flag. He picked his tunic up from the floor and put it back on, carefully retying the closures ad smoothing the front and sleeves.

“Ah!” He yanked the gloves off and shoved them down into his pocket as he dove into the refresher to splash cool water on his face, immediately regretting the decision when he patted himself dry, the open wound burning.

He stood in front of his door for several beats, drawing energy close to himself, preparing for a confrontation if the tone of Hux’s voice was any indication of what he was about to walk into.

He hadn’t been told _where_ to report, of course, but a quick scan of the ship told him Hux was in his quarters, alone. So, a private confrontation at the very least. Kylo wouldn’t have to put up any kind of front for anyone else. The walk felt like a death march all the same for the embarrassment and panic fizzling in Kylo’s gut.

At least he’d gone from painfully hard to only slightly so.

Kylo halted in front of Hux’s door and took one last deep breath before raising his hand to tap at the access panel to ask admittance. The door slid open before Kylo had a chance to touch the button.

“General.” Kylo took the gloves from his pocket and held them out. “Your gloves.” Hux smirked and looked down at the gloves and back to Kylo’s face. “Will that be all?”

“Why in all the stars have you taken to pilfering my gloves?” He took a step back and resumed what Kylo assumed was his previous seat at his desk.

“A harmless prank. Nothing more.”

“A prank.”

“Yes.”

“Come in.”

Kylo hesitated and stepped inside. He approached the desk, leaning casually against it, legs crossed at the ankles. “What else do you want? You’ve got your gloves back.” He dropped them on top of the datapad sitting on the desk.

“Was it still a prank while you were yanking at your cock like a messy teenager? When you wrapped your fingers around your throat?”

Kylo’s mouth went dry and his eyes wide. “I—“

Hux was looking up at him through his eyelashes, arms crossed. “Is that why we only ever went one round? Didn’t want to come in your pants when I put you down on the mat?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Are you sure about that?” Hux stood, invading Kylo’s space, making him lean back slightly over the desk. “Haven’t been dreaming about my hands around your throat?”

Kylo’s face went hot and red, his pulse pounding. “If you would stop _thinking_ _so loudly_ , I—“

“On your knees.”

“I _beg_ your pardon, I will not—“

“Yes, I imagine you will beg. On your knees.”

Hux took a step back, holding out a hand invitingly to the middle of the room. Kylo stood defiantly where he was, glaring.

For a moment.

He moved to the middle of the room and sank carefully to his knees. He felt betrayed by his own body—the immediate bloom of sweat on his skin and the way his cock twitched in his slacks.

“Proceed.”

“Proceed with what?”

“With what I interrupted, of course.”

“You—I—“

Hux was moving through to his bedroom. Kylo could see him standing in front of the dresser, opening a drawer. He returned with a new pair of gloves, pressing his index finger in the web between each of the others to fit them snugly. He stood in front of Kylo, looking at him expectantly.

Kylo moved the hem of his tunic aside and unfastened his slacks.

Hux continued to stare.

Kylo bowed his head, feeling utterly insignificant under Hux’s scrutiny, and took himself in hand.

“It truly does please me when you obey.”

Kylo didn’t even attempt to suppress the moan that ripped through his chest.

Kylo raced toward completion with Hux standing over him, one hand on his cock and the other braced against the floor, knees splayed. Hux stepped closer, the toes of his boots filling up Kylo’s narrow field of vision beneath the damp curtain of his hair, coming dangerously close to his fingers.

“Slow down.”

Kylo shivered and slowed his pace. Hux _laughed_ , a low and dark sound above him.

“Sit up.”

Kylo straightened his spine, bracing his hand against his thigh rather than the floor. He dared to look Hux straight in the eye.

He nearly came when Hux cupped his cheek, thumb caressing lightly. He squeezed his cock tight, not too far gone to want to see how far Hux would go.

“Isn’t easier to obey? To be calm?”

Kylo was anything but calm.

Hux’s hand moved into Kylo’s hair, gripping a handful of it tightly and tipping his head back—firm and commanding but not rough.

Kylo kept stroking, his hearing dampened by the sound of his own thundering heartbeat. “General, please.”

“General, please, what?”

Kylo tipped his head back farther, squeezing his eyes closed at the pain that settled into saber burn on his neck with the stretch of his skin. He gulped, feeling the nob of cartilage at the front of his throat bob sharply under the surface of his skin.

_Please don’t make me ask._

Kylo kept his thoughts to himself but Hux smiled all the same, moving his gloved hand from Kylo’s hair to his neck.

The pressure was light at first, like a scarf wrapped to tight against the wind and snow at _Starkiller_. It increased at Kylo continued to stroke, while he broke out into active tremors. He let out a high, reedy laugh, concerned for a moment that his body would break apart into so many base elements under Hux’s increasingly heavy hand.

Kylos face burned with heat and prickled with sweat. His pulse throbbed in the veins of his temple and against Hux’s fingers.

_So close._

“G-gen—“ He was sputtering, unable to find his voice. He leaned close, as close as Hux’s grip would allow, coming a hair’s width from the high-polished belt buckle at the general’s waist, straining to lean into him and press against his hip.

Hux took a half step back, denying Kylo the contact he was searching for. He squeezed tight and for a moment Kylo was convinced that this would be his end—that he’d die on the general’s floor with his cock in his hand.

Suddenly, Hux’s hand was gone.

Kylo’s was yanked away from his cock, the toe of a boot hooked into the crook of his elbow.

Everything was still and black and silent, the galaxy open before him.

Kylo shouted, careless of his volume, as his cock pulsed and bobbed, release coming in sharp waves and hitting the floor and his thighs in heavy drops and leaving his body more tightly wound than when he began.

Hux pulled his foot back, letting Kylo brace himself against the floor with both hands. He panted and shuddered and willed himself not to collapse.

“ _General_.” His voice was wrecked, his throat feeling as raw as he sounded. His head felt as though someone were driving a turbohammer into it.

He remained unreasonably erect.

“I really am looking forward to your return from Supreme Leader’s care.”


	9. Chapter 9

Kylo landed smoothly and stared out of the viewport at the darkness of the planet he'd been guided to, deep and consuming. He'd need no supplies, anything necessary would be provided by Snoke or the planet itself. He fastened his saber to his hip and stepped out of the shuttle, thumbing a control that would leave it cloaked--an extra layer of security never hurt anyone. He glared up at the incline before him, not looking forward to the trek he'd need to make to reach the ancient structure that would be his home for the foreseeable future.

Kylo found himself thinking of the  _Finalizer_ , wishing he were back there instead, planning a new assault on the Resistance.

What he was sure was a full standard day later, though the sky above him never changed, Kylo finally reached his destination.

Avaah Ren rose from where she was seated on the grand stairs. Her face split into an acrimonious smile. "You've been busy."

Kylo stepped close and sniffed the air dramatically. "You've finally gotten rid of that bacta stench." Kylo slammed the invisible walls around his thoughts shut as he felt lazy tendrils of the Force curling into them.

"Nerf herder."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it didn't wind up being a 100% faithful retelling of Vady's story, but I was enjoying myself and letting the characters go where they wanted. I hope you all had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. This was truly a really lovely step back from my usual fandoms and I don't think I can find it in me to regret a single moment of it.
> 
> Thank you so, so much to Vady for giving me permission to use the original fic as a springboard and for being so encouraging along the way. This was the first time I've written anything publicly for a different fandom and you made it worlds less terrifying than it could have been.
> 
> I'm having an absolute ball in this fandom, so please, feel free to drop any requests or prompts [into my askbox on tumblr.](http://onheil-ferguson.tumblr.com/ask) I can't promise that I'll get to them in a speedy manner, but I do promise to do my best with whatever inspires me.
> 
> Thanks so much!


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